Reality Bites
by kricket
Summary: When a close friend died, Max used a little Eyes Only mission as an excuse to leave Seattle. Too bad the past - and Alec - catch up with her. MA friendly. Chapters 10 and 11 are up.
1. Caught

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.  
  
A/N: I cannot believe I am doing this, potentially writing another multiple chapter story, but I guess that depends on you. What a lazy wimp am I. If you want to see more, feel free to let me know.  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
The wind whined along the river's surface, lapping languidly against the hull of the ferry. Mimicking the water's sigh, Max scratched her bare toes back and forth across the boat's deck dismally. Her shoes, long since discarded in the warm weather, swung precariously back and forth over the edge of the ferry as a pendulum would inside a grandfather clock. Behind her the loud, inane chatter of semi-drunk capitalists was carried by the wind, whipping around her hypersensitive ears. She glanced down at her watch; the boat would be docking in a few moments.   
  
The salty scent of shrimp and crawfish poboy sandwiches flittered across the air, sending her and her companion's stomachs in an excited state of grumbling. The lighthearted, fast-paced squeal of jazz flowed through the veins of the city. Tourists wandered aimlessly from place to place, always having a map in hand, but never really knowing where they were going. Never really caring either. From the cast-iron lace to the boutiques to the constantly changing colors, the city boomed with life.   
  
So this was New Orleans. Somehow she had imagined it...different. Not that Max minded the constant change the city reveled in. It suited her fancy even. During the day children cajoled their parents for Mardi Gras beads that heavily intoxicated girls would be showing skin for twelve hours later. But the upchuck reflexes of the drunk would be cleared away, the city seemingly placid the next day. It was clean, erasable, forgiving...unlike some things.   
  
Guilt assailed Max. Shaking her head, she tried to steer her thoughts in a more trivial, not reflective, direction.  
  
People around Max and her small companion began filing off the ferry, making plans for later on that night. Still lost in her contemplations, Max was unaware of the change until a smaller hand grasped hers, pulling her back to Louisiana. She glanced down at the impatient blond head. "Aunt Max," he said, "it's time to go."  
  
Letting her half-pint companion lead the way, they soon joined the last stragglers abandoning ship. "Can I have a poboy for dinner tonight?" he asked, following his nose in their delicious direction and dragging her along.   
  
"That's 'May I?' and the answer is no," Max replied, steering him the other way. As force of habit, she scanned the perimeter. They had to be moving on soon. Their last-minute stay in New Orleans had been dragged out for entirely too long. Both were reluctant to leave, yet the move was inevitably coming and quickly. In fact, they had been pushing their luck by staying on the coast this long.   
  
The two had started in Maine, went to New York City, and had been steadily working their way down the coast ever since. They were becoming too predictable; someone was liable to catch them soon, whether it be Logan or White or even worse...Alec. A small shudder ran over her and her barcode tingled. Someone was watching them.   
  
Tightening her grip on her tiny companion's hand she quickened their pace, ducking in a back alley. "Why is it always an alley? What a cliche," Max mumbled to herself.   
  
Unaware of their danger, her companion piped up. "Why can't I get a poboy?"   
  
"Because Ray, we're leaving town before dinner." Suddenly she felt herself softly jerked back. Still holding onto to her hand, Ray had stopped in the middle of the alley, apparently pouting. He was a handsome little boy, or would be, if it weren't for the stubborn scowl marring his face. Max sighed, glancing back the way they came. The coast seemed clear.   
  
For now.  
  
Returning her attention to her charge, she was once again confronted with his glower. Sulking, he had one hand on his hip, and scowled up at her. His foot was practically tapping in time with his temper.   
  
Like father, like son.  
  
Max knelt down so she could look at him eye-to-eye. He hated that, and she knew it. If Ray White was going to lock horns with someone taller than him, he'd climb up on the highest spot possible to meet the challenge head on. Nothing could make a boy feel patronized like being knelt down to. And he hated being patronized. It made him feel like people were treating him like...like a kid or something. Two tiny nostrils flared, along with his pride.   
  
"If you keep up that scowl, your face is going to freeze like that."  
  
Ray was obviously unmoved. "So?!"  
  
"Listen up, Ray. I know you don't like it. I don't even like it. But we are leaving town tonight. We had a deal, remember? We stay an extra couple of days and you leave without sulking. Now we are leaving town. And I don't care if you act like a grown up and walk with some dignity, or if I have to throw you over my shoulder in the potato sack position. It's happening." She stared down at him, testing his reaction. He seemed to soften around the edges, and his eyes started to belie his true emotion. Not anger, but loss.   
  
They had another of their regular staring contests. As usual, Ray pulled away first. "Two in a half minutes, impressive," Max quipped. Pretending to be sage-like, she rose to her feet with grave dignity. Crossing one fist over her heart she said, "Your staring powers are growing, young master."  
  
Ray giggled a little, and the tiny rift between them was breached. Sighing, his face sobered. "But I don't want to leave." Aunt Max's warm hand cupped his cheek and he felt a little better. "I know." Gently squeezing his hand, they continued down the alley, discussing the pros and cons of macadamia nuts.  
  
Four eyes followed them.  
  
*****  
  
Nestled into his "aunt's" side, Ray fully engrossed himself in his Tetris game, happily kicking the seat in front of him. Max quickly stilled his feet, shooting an apologetic look towards perturbed bus occupant. With a small sniff, the woman wheeled back around muttering something along the lines of, "Unwed liberal teenage mothers can't discipline their own children." Not even fighting the urge, Max promptly stuck her tongue out at her. Much to her chagrin, Ray's squeal of delight notified her that she'd been caught in the act.  
  
"That wasn't very nice Aunt Max," he informed her, a small grin on his face. Before she could respond he said, "But what she don't know won't hurt her...unfortunately."  
  
"Doesn't know," Max corrected. She didn't dare fix the "unfortunately". She was already a poor role model for immaturity, what good would it do by piling "Hypocrite" on top of it?   
  
"Are we there yet?" Max just glared down at her charge, who sniggered in response. "I swear to God, if you dare start that again, I'll tie your shoelaces to the bumper at the next stop, and you'll ride the rest of the way to Olathe, Kansas with your face kissing the freeway." A wide grin split on Ray's face, deciding whether or not to challenge the empty threat. Max chucked him lightly on the head before placing a kiss on his brow.   
  
"It's a bad habit to swear to God Aunt Max."  
  
"I hear he's a pretty forgiving guy. Now play your game."  
  
While he broke a sweat trying to get past level five, she gazed blankly out the bus window. The tall evergreens were lost on her unseeing eyes. Instead of the horizon flying by, she watched the past few months of her life.  
  
*****  
  
Original Cindy was dead.   
  
Her confidant, sounding board, psychiatrist, sister, and friend was gone. Max chocked back a sob, still unbelieving. A sweet, sassy, beautiful life had been taken from the world. No more midnight manicures, no more Xena marathons, no more priceless advice, boundless love, and forgiveness. No more...anything.  
  
And it was her fault.  
  
Running one of Max's special errands, the late O.C. had had a run-in with one of White's henchmen. Upon recognizing her as a transgenic supporter with contraband - a lousy box of tryptophan for the needy residents of Terminal City - she'd been promptly shot. One bullet to the head. A beautiful life wasted, destroyed. Her first real friend...gone.   
  
Max's long-abiding hatred against guns intensified even as the personal grief had swallowed her. Night after night the memories assailed her, only all the more potent in those rare moments of sleep. Guilt deployed itself from all directions, attacking her mercilessly.   
  
She had even left Terminal City, returning to all their old haunts. She snuck into Jam Pony one night just after curfew, preparing herself to clean out her late friend's locker. When she found it had already been done, she leaned against the sobbed the night away, barely making her escape from the building before opening time.   
  
In their old apartment, Max boxed up Cindy's stuff like the Tin Man without his Oil. Cindy had been Oil, the only way Max could run Smooth. All that was left was were stiff Joints that cried for Oil in every Movement.  
  
Then came the call from Logan. Wendy's sister, the one watching Ray, had collapsed. Needing to get out of Seattle before all sanity fled, Max volunteered to drive up to check them out. The woman had been dead before Max even got there, but she seemed unsurprised. She packed up Ray's things and - claiming to be a long lost cousin - had him out of the state miles before good ol' Ames even made the connection between her death and his son's location.  
  
Using the whole ordeal as a sign from God, Max made a point never to go back to Seattle. She avoided Washington entirely, hence the East Coast. She never wanted to go back. No contact. Not even a goodbye. Too much guilt lay there. The virus with Logan, O.C.'s death, unleashing three-ring media circus transgenics, and now that she looked back, even the way she had treated Alec. All in all she knew he was trustworthy, in rare conditions. The transgenics would see him as a better leader anyway. He was one of them, not a Niner. She had left Terminal City in capable - if devious - hands. She took nothing with her, save some clothes, a couple of pictures, and a lot of regret and memories.   
  
Ray had not proven to be an easy charge. Mourning the loss of his favorite aunt, mother, and the estrangement from his father - his aunt had told Ray that his father was doing a lot of "bad things" -, he was almost unrecognizable as the sweet-tempered and unimposing child that she remembered him to be. He was stubborn, always had a smart remark, and never listened to direction. If Alec and Ames could have a child...  
  
Not that Max was any better. She was in no mood to deal with the insolence that masked his anguish. His fire fueled hers. She could be just as stubborn as he could, and she was. They drifted from motel to motel, ranging anywhere from silent antagonism to all out war, which always seemed to end in the infamous potato sack position - Max carrying Ray, of course.  
  
The only thing that seemed to keep the two together was desperation. Max didn't want to imagine the glares Original Cindy would send her from heaven if she left the boy out in the cold. And Ray, admit it or not, was just a boy, and completely unprepared to be on the run, especially from his psychopathic father.   
  
It wasn't until about Rhode Island that the two seemed to find a common ground. Like it or not, they were tied together. It had taken a storm to get those two to start pull in the same direction, instead of strangling themselves trying to run opposite ways. In another anonymous hotel room, the ice cracked. A record-breaking storm raged outside, terrifying Ray, and not exactly entertaining Max either. After a particularly bad thunderclap Max reached out for Ray. He automatically curled into her side. A maternal flow started in Max again. Curling him to her chest, she tenderly kissed his forehead and crooned him to sleep.  
  
The next seven states proved infinitely easier. Max told him about Cindy, and he shared the memories of his mother and favorite aunt. A certain feeling of camaraderie - and dare one say love? - blossomed from their shared pain. Max had found herself misting up when he asked to call her "Aunt Max" and Ray bloomed under his new nicknames. Some nice, some not so nice. But fun all the same.   
  
*****  
  
"Wake up, potato-head."  
  
Ray blinked his eyes open for a split second then slammed them shut. He wanted to sleep more. The small Nintendo was still in his hand, so Max started to tug at it. Ray tugged it back towards him sleepily in response. "Come on, Ray. If you don't wake up, I just might have to take your game and beat all of your high scores."  
  
That did it. He was up like a rocket. "Where are we?" he asked, purposefully ignoring his aunt's wide grin. His sleep-crusted eyes took in people climbing off of the done-in Greyhound.   
  
"Just crossed the border, babe. The facilities on this bus leave a little to be desired, like toilet paper, as usual. Gotta pee?"  
  
Of course he did. Max had learned in the last few months that Ray had a bladder smaller than a woman did in her third trimester. The one time he didn't have to go at a truck stop was when he had a fever, so he was sweating it all out anyway.  
  
While Ray heeded the call of nature, Max crossed over to the vending machines chained outside the stop. Another thing she in her protege had in common: an unhealthy penchant for snack foods, in particular Milky Way bars. "Bingo." Spotting her target, she bought the last three bars. Switching to the machine next to it, she got a Coke and a Sprite.  
  
Her barcode began to tingle again - very dimly - as if danger was drawing near. Checking the surrounding area, she shook off her waves of anticipation as merely being a worrywart. Truck stops had always made her nervous. Like most transgenics she liked to get from point A to B without pausing in the middle. Pauses could lead to mistakes, which could throw off the entire mission.  
  
Sneaking up behind Max, he swiped her Sprite. "Ray!" Throwing the candy bars in her backpack, she brandished the Coke like a sword and began charging after him. Chasing him around the facility without blurring or using any unusual speed to tip of her fellow passengers proved to be more difficult than one would think. They circled around tables and a few miffed passengers, laughing in their chase.   
  
Already Ray had managed the cap off of the bottle and began to sip at the contents. "Ray! Coke is your favorite! You don't even like Sprite!"  
  
"Ah, but when it's yours Aunt Max, it tastes so much better!"  
  
"YOU RAT!"  
  
Not even pausing in her running, Max slid off one of her sneakers. She promptly chucked it at him, knocking him lightly upside his head. Using his surprise as a tactical advantage, she tackled him. Uncaring that they were both now covered in the spilled Sprite, she flipped him over and sat lightly - but firmly - on his stomach. She grabbed for the Coke. "I'll teach you for stealing my Sprite!" Pointlessly shaking the pop a little bit for added drama - it was already to the point of bursting - she twisted the cap a little bit, her evil glee satisfied by the squeal as Coke foamed down his face. Never mind she was re-soaking herself in the process as well.  
  
When their laughter died down, the lanky bus driver playfully informed them that they had ten minutes to change or the bus was hitting the road without them. Both, feeling more lighthearted than they had in months, clamored to their feet. Moving over to a nearby cafeteria-like table, Max began to layout a change of clothes for each of them.  
  
Max's hair covered barcode burned, as if Hell's anger was boring into it. Time slipped on its axis and slowed, throbbing. Someone was standing behind her. Two someones. And judging by the fear on Ray's face, they weren't happy customers. Max hastily grabbed Ray's hand across the table, fearing it was White, preparing to fight for her companion's freedom.   
  
Her chin tilting up, she whirled around to face two gazes.   
  
One was very, very relieved. The other was very, very pissed.  
  
Logan. Alec.  
  
Oh help.  
Slow start, and not really sure exactly where this is going. Typical. Please tell me if it's a thought worth continuing. I'd appreciate it. Could someone please tell me how old Ray is? I've always kind of figured around six-ish. If I am wrong, feel free to tell me. 


	2. Motel from Hell

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.  
  
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. (Hugs everywhere!) Ya'll should see the ridiculous smile that comes across my face anytime someone reviews my story and say they like it. It just makes my day. Sorry Sam, if you were indeed late to school. ; )  
CHAPTER 2  
  
He was going to kill her.  
  
Max stared at her reflection in the dingy mirror, using her thumbnail to scratch away at the crust film covering it. She almost wished she had a camera at this point, to take one last shot at her face. That way when Alec beat her to a bloody pulp - which he undoubtedly would - she could still have an open casket at her funeral. Tape the picture to her unrecognizable face. But then again, she might not need to worry about being recognizable. Alec was a creative enough guy, they might never find the body.   
  
Max had changed over seven minutes ago. She had rinsed her body - courtesy of a rusty sink and tattered paper towels - in thirty seconds. The bus was leaving in a couple minutes. Maybe if she cracked the bathroom window, snuck out, and suddenly became invisible, she could whip around the truck stop and be safely inside the Greyhound without Alec or Logan ever noticing. Nah, that wouldn't work. The window was stubbornly wedged shut.   
  
She'd tried it.   
  
Not like she could really leave Ray to their mercies anyway. Logan would be infinitely more easygoing, but he knew next to squat about kids. Most likely he'd be left to the pity of the transgenic females inside Terminal City. And how benevolent would they feel when they discovered he was the spawn of their archenemy? But then again, it wasn't like Ray had really run from the two men either. It took him less than two minutes to freshen up and then he was out the door to greet his adversaries. From what her enhanced hearing could pick up, Logan and Ray had been chatting quite amiably.  
  
Little traitor.  
  
Sighing for the umpteenth time, Max made a start for the bathroom door. She hadn't quite followed through on the eleven steps to the door yet, but she was slowly working up to it. One round she actual took seven steps before veering in the other direction.  
  
Chicken.  
  
Max leaned against the doorway of an empty bathroom stall and let the truth flow over her. Back and forth it drifted, numbing her. It would almost be relaxing to stop trying to outrun the truth, if it wasn't so painful.  
  
She was a chicken. Things got too tough and she bolted. She couldn't shoulder the burden of being the leader of Terminal City, so she delegated the duties to her unwilling second-in-command. In some sense, Max seriously doubted she hadn't been wrong in that one decision: Alec. He'd probably taken over their troop with his charismatic, businesslike attitude. He had the aura of a leader; he would be a strong CO. He was strong where Max could now see herself as weak. The entire female population of Terminal City would definitely follow him into Hell itself.   
  
The last few months had given Max more than adequate time to take a good, harsh look at herself. Since Original Cindy could no longer be her doctor, Max had to resort to doing her own self-prognosis. Her conclusion: she had spent the majority of the last year and a half being wrong. The only potentially right thing she'd really done was keep the residents of Manticore from being char-grilled. The extra six month sabbatical tramping around the East Coast with a six year old in one hand and her guilt in the other only added to her damnation.   
  
And now it was time to face the music. Logically, it made sense in her head: "do the crime, do the time" sort of thing. But by the way her heart started galloping in her chest like a hummingbird on speed anytime she even thought of facing her old friends' hostility or Alec's flat out hatred, she guessed her heart hadn't quite grasped the logic.   
  
She deserved every bad thing anyone would say to her. She had been completely hypocritical, telling everyone it was best to stay in Seattle together and then being the first to run off. Psyching herself up for battle, Max crossed toward the door - making it all the way this time. She turned the knob, flung open the door and strode out of the restroom.  
  
Right into Alec.   
  
He'd caught her by the forearms, preventing her from bouncing away as she undoubtedly would have done. Afraid to look him in the eye, she made a great show of observing her shoelaces. His anger reverberated between them, a wintry fever piercing her to the core. Mere inches from the one man she'd hoped never to confront again, her heart flopped to the cement pavement of the truck stop.  
  
Obviously she wasn't as well psyched as she'd originally hoped. Another three minutes in the stall might have done the trick. She glanced toward his eyes and his grip tightened its already bruising hold on her forearms. Then again, maybe not. Glancing back down at her sneakers, she did something abominable by her standards. She wilted. He hated her, she could feel it flowing from every pore of his form.  
  
And yet at the same time, Max drew inner strength from the acknowledgement. She was a coward. He hated her. There was no place lower she could go in her own eyes or his. There was no comprehensible chasm digging any lower than this. She was in the pits. Well, admitting the problem solves half the problem. She could only make the long, arduous trek up from here. Pasting a brave half-smile on her face she looked him eye-to-eye.  
  
"Don't worry, the window was stuck, even by transgenic standards. Breaking the window would only draw your attention, and you had obviously posted yourself guard outside the restroom. Therefore, there was no logical escape."   
  
Alec wasn't amused. If anything, his glower seemed only to deepen, if possible. Max was quickly losing ground here. She could feel herself slipping, but her pride refused to let her take the fall and apologize. Not just yet. She had just admitted to herself that she was a coward and thoroughly hated by one of her closest friends - yes, she could now freely admit it, he had been a friend. There was only so much transgenic pride could take. She was tired of being weak. She flatly refused to crack before Alec.  
  
Yet. But the longer she could feel his heated gaze scalping the top of her head, the more her resolve began to weaken.  
  
Thankfully Ray chose that particularly tense moment to come a callin'. God bless this child. Leaping into Max's arms, he wrapped himself around her like a koala bear in a tree, as tradition dictated. This seemed to be his favorite traveling position; either that, or piggyback.   
  
When her human shield was firmly tucked in place, she felt much stronger. Someone needed her.   
  
Deciding that Alec was still standing too close, - she could feel his hot breath on her neck, with or without transgenic senses - she made her way across the now bare parking lot to the much more understanding Logan, who slumped casually against Ol' Bessie. The car showed some recent developments in character, even a couple of new eye wrinkles. Logan saw her glancing at the scratches next to the headlights and explained it merely as "another Eyes Only mission gone a tad awry."   
  
Obviously Logan didn't hate her. In fact, he didn't seem to feel any real animosity toward her sudden disappearance. Oh, he'd been worried alright, he just didn't seem quite as incensed as his traveling companion, who at that moment was invading Max's personal space again. And he was shouldering her backpack. Well, in all actuality it wasn't her backpack; she'd "found" it one night when she was making a "transaction" at the local "bank", or so she'd told Ray. For some reason the combination of Alec's Zack-like condescension and a pink "Power Puff Girl" backpack only added a dash of hilarity to the already warped scenario.  
  
Max swallowed the chuckle developing in her throat at Alec's glare. Maybe choked would be a better term. Either way, it never weaseled out. Seeing her twisted splash of humor, his jaw tightened to the point of shattering and he chucked the backpack in her general direction, uncaring of whether she caught it or not.   
  
Forget Zack-like. Alec was worse than Zack. At least Alec had been easygoing at one point in time, Zack had always walked like he had a stick rammed in his butt.   
  
From Kansas to Seattle with Ray, Logan, and Alec. One adored her, one accepted her, and the other loathed her. Ah, the best of all three worlds.   
  
It was going to be a long drive to Seattle.  
  
Ray's head suddenly nuzzled her neck and he let out a soft belch. "I'm not feelin' too good, Aunt Maxie." Max rubbed his back gingerly, as if trying to coax gas out of a baby. She touched his forehead, not that she really new what the normal temperature felt like. Sometimes having a higher basal body temperature just worked against you. "Carsick?" she asked. He gave a slight nod in response. "A little."  
  
Logan instantly came to Ray's help. "He could ride in the front with me."  
  
After nearly blacking out with the worries of sharing a backseat with Alec, she decided it was probably the best idea. Still a little shaky about discarding her shield, she made perfectly sure he was comfortable in the front seat. Do you need some 7 Up to settle your stomach? Maybe some crackers? Max discovered her niche in life: stalling. She kept herself busy for a good ten minutes making sure Ray was as snug as a bug in a rug, making sure she didn't have to get in the backseat. Only Ray seemed oblivious to the playing for time. Logan, the jerk, seemed to find it amusing. Alec just stared at her, as if daring her to meet his gaze. She didn't.  
  
Max squeezed into the car. Not that there wasn't any room; Bessie had a very spacious backseat. But at the same time, she was very tempted to shovel out some of the tension before climbing in. The air pressure could make one's head explode. Alec, for the first time since she'd been in his eyesight that day, turned his gaze away. For some reason, that didn't make Max feel any better. Fastening her seatbelt, she compressed herself against her door whispered out a short prayer for sanity.  
  
Correction: it was going to be a very long drive to Seattle.   
  
*****  
  
To say Alec was irked was like saying Pamela Anderson had a decent-sized rack: a vast understatement. Logan peered over his wire rims, glancing back at Alec's silent form. He was casually leaning back against the rear passenger seat, seemingly relaxed. But Logan knew Alec's outwardly peaceful state was all a front for the emotion vigorously simmering just beneath the surface tension.   
  
Logan couldn't handle another 1500 some-odd miles stuck in mute mode. When he'd finally received a lead on their favorite transgenic, Alec had said he was coming too. Not requested, not even demanding, he just simply said he was coming along for the ride. So of course Logan had thoroughly prepared himself for 1500 miles of nonstop, inane, Alec-like chatter. It wasn't until several of the older man's icebreaking tactics had been vehemently shot down by the silence that he realized he was in for a quiet ride.  
  
As if sensing his gaze, Alec turned his face front, meeting Logan's eyes in the mirror. He wore a sardonic expression, and lifted his eyebrows as if to say "What now?" Logan eyebrows arched in response and Alec returned to gazing out the window at the oh-so-fascinating sights of dead grass. Logan didn't have any particular plan in mind. At the point of Max's disappearance, he'd only hoped to catch her trail. Wrangling her up, putting her back in the pen, and reacclimating her with the other bulls - er, transgens - seemed to be Alec's job. If the older man had learned one thing in the past six months, it was to never again doubt the other X5's control over almost any situation.   
  
*****  
  
"How ya feeling, squirt?"  
  
Alec just about jumped out of his transgenic skin at the harsh noise. Well, not that Max's voice was really that harsh; the only time it had been truly severe was when she'd been ragging on him for each and every stunt he'd tried to pull. In fact, Max's tone was the most tender and concerned that Alec had ever heard cross her lips. Unless maybe you count the times with Joshua, her other soft spot. But after settling into a side road silence with Logan for the past few days, Max's sudden urge to speak threw him off of his equilibrium. Alec shrugged to his inner thoughts. She always threw him off, why should this be any different?   
  
"A little better," came the tiny response. Around the side of the front seat poked Ray's tiny and absolutely pathetic puppy dog expression. "Oh for the love of..." Alec mumbled under his breath, too low for Max's hearing to pick up. The last thing he needed was for Max to get that self-righteous haughty expression pointing in his direction.   
  
"Here, let me help you." Reaching around the other side of the seat, she pulled a handle and the chair began to angle back. Pulling it to its max, Ray was almost had his head in her lap. After settling the blanket tighter around her young charge, she began sweeping her fingers threw his hair, a maternal gesture. Ray automatically began to relax under the caress and was asleep in moments, his tiny chest rising and falling with a nice deep rhythm.   
  
Another silence wafted into the car, pressing down on the chests of the three conscious passengers. Logan began to tap the steering wheel lightly, a nervous habit of his. Max slowly kept winding and unwinding her fingers in Ray's tousled mane. And Alec contented himself to making Max squirm under his stare. He wasn't a fool; her constant touching of Ray was just as much for her as it was for the child. She seemed to draw a certain drive from him, her little safeguard, her buffer. And Alec wanted nothing more than to snatch her hands away from Ray's scalp and demand some answers. Thankfully he refrained. Now was not the time to cause a scene.  
  
"So what happens to Ray?" Max softly asked, not for fear of waking her charge - Ray was a heavy sleeper -, but her seatmate's glower stifled her voice.   
  
"Don't know yet," Logan said, with a small shrug.   
  
"He could stay with me." Alec scoffed at Max's offer, who promptly glared at him. "He trusts me." Alec leveled her a look that said he clearly doubted if she was worthy of a six year-old's trust. Logan cut between the two. "Maybe that would be the best idea for now. You can only uproot a child so many times before takes he a dive off the deep end."  
  
Max gave a grateful smile for Logan's attempt to lighten the mood, but it was sliced away by another one of Alec's scornful, menacing grins that could only be translated one way...  
  
Later.  
  
*****  
  
And of course "Later" did come. Max sighed, gazing out the window of the cheap motel. The falling rain splattered in the gravel road, pounding down sadistically as if it was more than happy to lock the foursome in this shoddy motel. And her in a room with Alec.   
  
She turned her glare at the peeling wallpaper, as if it was the source of all her problems, as if it could solve them for her. The wallpaper offered no suggestions, and the water stain on the wall gave the impression of smirking at her. "Schmuck," she muttered. Cursing the powers that be, she flopped down on one of the double beds in her and Alec's room, which gave off a springy squeak in protest. "Oh, I'm sure you've had more pressure on you bef..."  
  
Alec strode out of the bathroom, vigorously rubbing one of the less offensive towels through his hair. For the first time since he'd sat in Logan's car on the trip New Orleans, he spoke. "Arguing with the beds again Max?"   
  
*****  
  
.....EARLIER.....  
  
"I could drive. The shark DNA and all. We don't have to stop for the night."  
  
Logan didn't seem aware of the urgency in her voice. Do men have no sense of subtlety? "Max," he started. "Look at this rain. It's one of the worst storms that they've had in this area in a while. The guy at the gas station said there was a motel a couple miles up the road. I need to get some information off of my laptop..."  
  
"I thought you had that stuff in the car."  
  
"Got kind of cut up on an Eyes Only..."  
  
" ...'mission gone a tad awry'," Max finished.   
  
"My headlights are going bad."  
  
"Night vision."  
  
"Max..."  
  
"We could still..."  
  
"Aunt Maxie, can we please stop for the night?" Ray whined from the front seat. Now that Max noticed, his face was pale and his eyes were swimming in nausea. Obviously his occasional carsickness had gone from bad to worse. Well, Max was not so self-centered and hardhearted to ignore a cry for help when she heard one.  
  
"Fine."  
  
They pulled into the Motel 8 just as the clouds began to truly unleash their fury. Visibility decreased dramatically, and the windshield wipers were useless against the tidal waves. Knowing he'd been right to pull over for the night, Logan couldn't help throwing a self-satisfied smirk in the review mirror. Max was not amused. "Shut up."   
  
Leaving the guys to grab whatever they needed, Max slung the all-purpose "Power Puff Girls" backpack over her shoulder, slipped Ray out of the front seat and made a dash across the gravel parking lot, using her upper torso to guard the boy's body from the fierce bite of the driving rain.   
  
But having to stop for the night wasn't the only curse the powers that be had in store for her.  
  
Max shook her head. "No, I think it's a bad idea. Ray and I can share this room and you and Alec can take the one down the hall."  
  
"Max, be reasonable. We were lucky to get the last two rooms. This one has the outside line that I need to hook up my laptop, and it has Cartoon Network for Ray. Both rooms have two beds. Ray and I can take this one, you and Alec take the other. What is the problem?"  
  
'The problem?' Max thought. 'The problem is I have an idiot boyfriend who is unwittingly throwing me to the lions!' Cursing his stupidity and complete insensitivity to what was obviously a disastrous situation, Max was tempted to take off her gloves and cuff Logan dead across the face. Almost.  
  
Obviously no one seemed moved to trade roommates. Particularly Alec. His face had lightened up with a very malevolent joy at the prospect of having a room alone with Max for an entire night. She shot one last look at Logan, who stared back at her in confusion, honestly lost to the reason for Max's stress. 'He'll never know what happened to me. Alec will chuck my body into a corn field. He'll grind me up and donate me to a food shelter for Taco Tuesdays. He'll wind my body into yarn and sell me on the black market to tiny, hunched back German women who'll make me into oven mitts.'  
  
Max sucked in a breath. Determined to go down with some dignity, she bravely marched three doors down to the other room and strode in. Alec came in a few moments later and slammed the door behind him, its crash echoing down the hall, across the motel, in her brain. Max jumped a mile high from her spot on the bed and Alec grinned evilly. Sick bastard was enjoying this. Without a word - not that Max had been expecting one, he'd been broodingly silent throughout the trip, like a psycho-killer trying to decide the best way to dispose of the evidence before the murder - he strolled into the bathroom, letting the door shut with a very soft click.  
  
Max held her breath until she heard the familiar patter of a shower running. Moving over to the window, ready to throw it open and fly out into the rain at any second, she stared out at the storm. Now that she actually had time to prepare herself for the storm brewing in the hotel room without Alec's threatening presence towering over her, she couldn't think of anything. She drew a complete blank. No opening statement to tame Alec's hate. No life flashing before her eyes. Nada.  
  
Well, there was one thought: Logan was a nimrod and should burn in Hell for sheer stupidity.   
  
*****  
  
.....PRESENT.....  
  
"I'm not going to kill her. I'm not going to kill her. I'm not going to kill her..." Alec's mantra weaved in and out through the tiny droplets in the shower stream. The soothing pressure of the water - hot water, thank God - was like fingers gently unwinding the knotted muscles of his shoulders and neck while propelling away the soapy lather. He finished rinsing his short hair, flicked off the water, and stepped out of the shower. After drying off and tossing on some clean clothes - a navy t-shirt and some well worn, well loved blue jeans - he caught his reflection in the mirror.  
  
No wonder Max had been cowed by him. The constricted face muscles, the tight jaw, the fiery amber eyes were not his own features. He looked so feral and coolly threatening. Water dripped from his hairline, loping down his slim nose. He grabbed one of the not-so-fluffy towels and wiped the scattering drops away. If only he could wipe himself clean of Max so easily. She'd gotten under his skin. Sometimes he couldn't decide whether to hug her or really arm wrestle her. *  
  
And he'd almost gone crazy when she'd left.   
  
"I'm not going to kill her..."  
  
No explanation. No destination. Not even so much as a goodbye. She'd just slipped out in the middle of the night. The supposed guardian of the Second Coming left her loyal followers in the dust. He'd stood by her. He'd defended her honor to the intolerant Mole. And she vanished without a trace. Thankfully, instead of laughing him out of T.C. for his faith in the runner, the wide-ranging crowd seemed to come the general consensus that he'd make a good leader. According to some, a better one. But that wasn't the point. The point was Max had spent a year trying to teach him the difference between right and wrong and she'd crossed the line.  
  
"I'm not going to kill her..."  
  
Grudgingly, he had admitted to himself that she'd been a friend. The friend. And once the initial shock of her desertion had worn off, anger and betrayal had sprang up in it place, quickly sweeping into his core. He was bitter. The concern for Max's well being had turned into a desire for answers.   
  
"I'm not going to kill her..."   
  
In the end, he partially blamed himself for her disappearance. Max had been in mourning, and he'd cracked the wrong joke at the wrong time. Turning on him she'd slapped him across the face screaming, "O.C.' s dead, you asshole! Have you no decency?!?" With that, she'd turned on one heel and flew across the gate safeguarding the transgenics from the militant mob. He'd figured she'd come back. He'd been wrong.  
  
Now, six months, 3 days, 12 hours, and 31 minutes later he could demand the answers. He could feel the anger rising in him again - partially against himself, but mostly against Max - and begging to be unleashed.   
  
Massaging the towel through his hair, he stalked out the bathroom door, catching Max in the act of talking to the beds. Determined not to lose the reigns on his temper, he decided to try starting with a neutral, casual, "Arguing with the beds again Max?"  
  
Max jumped at his words, obviously she'd been shocked by him actually speaking. Though it was incredibly immature, scaring her seemed to give him a great deal of satisfaction.  
  
She was only feeling a fraction of the fear that had coursed through him over the last months.   
  
Pulling his emotions in check, he sat down on the other bed, which also groaned in protest. Alec rested his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. Being this close to her sent the anger, fear, and other vague emotions surging through his veins, starting at his heart, pushing its way to his fingertips. The feelings and sensations caused his heart rate to increase, his breathing became fast and shallow. But he pushed them back, forcing his pulse to slow, driving back the water drops that threatened his eyelids.  
  
He sighed. He was under control. He could do this. As long as he didn't look at her. Still hiding his face behind his palms, he began the interrogation. His voice sounded strangled - almost vulnerable - to his own ears. "Why did you leave, Max?"  
  
"Ray's aunt died, and I couldn't let White..."  
  
"Bullshit," the word came out low and strained, like surface of a water balloon filling too quickly.   
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard me." Just as low though a little more strained. The balloon was breaking. "Why did you leave?"  
  
The nervous energy made her fingers tap against the stained, frayed comforter of their own accord. Her lip found the perfect hiding place between her teeth. "I couldn't let White..."  
  
The balloon broke. "Bullshit!" Alec hollered, leaping to his feet. On the defense Max rose to her feet too, making a break for the door. This Alec she'd never encountered before, and his "Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde" transformation frightened her to the core. His eyes were molten fire; he looked like he wanted to devour her alive. She made a small dash for the door, but never made it. Alec had her pinned against the wall in a nanosecond.  
  
"Why did you leave?!?" he yelled to her face, uncaring if the cops were called up for domestic violence. He didn't care that Logan would probably shoot him once he saw Alec manhandling his girlfriend. His body trapped hers against the wall, hip to hip, chest to chest, face to face. "Do you know what could've happened to you? What if people found out you were a transgenic? What if White found you? I was terrified for you! I have woken up in a cold sweat day after day for the nightmares I've had about you! What were you...?"  
  
Luckily for Max, Logan burst through the door right at that moment, looking ready to fight off any attackers. Ray and the motel manager were hot on his heels. Alec seemed to come to his senses, released his impossibly tight grip on her wrists, and jumped back about eight feet. His breathing was ragged. Unable to resist, he threw one last look in her direction, a raw, biting torrent of indescribable fervor. Then he turned and ran from the building.  
  
Alec ran for miles around the perimeter, unaffected by the downpour that cut his visibility down to a few feet. He'd even slipped in a couple of muddy patches and almost fallen, but still he dragged himself on. Giving up on outrunning the inevitable, Alec turned towards Logan's car and slipped in. Pulling his knees to his chin, he wrapped his arms around them, huddling for warmth. His chin chattered with the cold. Alec settled himself in for a long, sleepless night of self-contemplation, something he'd become quite familiar with in the recent months.  
  
Resting his sodden head back against the headrest, Alec thanked every deity known to man that Logan had burst through the door at that moment. Alec had felt himself loosing control of the situation, holding Max so close after she'd been so far away for so long. He'd probably have done Something Crazy. He still wanted to do Something Crazy. If he just hadn't looked at her, none of this would have happened.  
  
If Logan hadn't flown through the door right at that moment...  
  
Sighing, Alec admitted his defeat aloud - very softly, as if afraid to say it to his own ears.   
  
"I would have kissed her."  
  
*****  
  
To be continued...  
  
* I know. I know. Not mine. I swiped it from the movie "While You Were Sleeping", great flick. But I always thought it described Max and Alec's relationship so well, and I couldn't resist. I tried, for all of ten seconds.   
  
Feel free to keep me floating in happy by reviewing! 


	3. Home Sweet Home

Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
A/N: I know it has been awhile... a long while, sorry...since my last update, but after spring break the activities (and the homework, blah) have just been piling in. So instead of mi proyecto de espanol, what do I work on? Fanfiction! (And there was much rejoicing....yay.) ; )  
CHAPTER 3  
  
Naturally, after the little motel incident, the rest of the trip was pretty much smooth sailing.   
  
In shotgun, Logan kept Ray entranced with stories of pre-Pulse television, while Max found herself captivated by the white blips that peppered the now deserted interstate. Unfortunately there were only so many times one could whip her head back and forth before spotting the dotted lines swept even transgenic senses into a lovely whirl of nausea. But Max, being the stubborn feline she was, was absolutely determined to push the limit. Instead of letting the dotted lines swallow into a solid blur, she was unwavering in her quest to spot each and every individual paint slash. Any distraction, even a nauseous one, was welcome to keep her eyes from wandering to her seatmate.   
  
"I swear to God," Alec mumbled. "If you whip your head back one more time, I am going to throw up for you."  
  
Of their own volition, Max found her eyes sweeping towards Alec. His head was tilted back against the seat, and he almost looked peaceful enough to be asleep, like she had found him earlier this morning. Only in his sleep he hadn't looked so remote and cold, like some sort of exotic god only to be hailed, never approached. In slumber, he had looked lifetimes younger. His jaw relaxed; his forehead smoothed down, no longer filled by wrinkles of worry.   
  
"Oh, so you can speak." So of course, the sarcastic comment was pummeled by his stony silence. Trying another tactic, she asked, "So, what happens when we get back to Seattle?"  
  
"Terminal City."  
  
"Seattle."  
  
"Terminal City."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
Suddenly, Alec dropped the facade of semi-sleeping serenity. Snapping upright, he turned to her, one leg hiked up on the seat, closing the ever widening gap between them. "No Max, not whatever," he growled. Very succinctly, he continued, "Terminal. City."  
  
"What's the difference?"  
  
"The difference is in Seattle, you could find one of a million places to shut yourself up and wallow in your self-pity. In Terminal City, there are only a few hundred. You'd be a lot easier to baby-sit and less likely to be able to run off. Again."  
  
"Baby-sit?" Max asked, feeling her irritation flare. "Baby-sit?"  
  
"Yes, Max. Baby-sit." He was treating her like a two-year old. Not just by words, but tone also.   
  
Her ire arched sky high. Tired of being compliant to his unspoken clout, she felt herself begin to release a tirade. "How dare you...?"   
  
But Alec had already whirled around. Facing front, he tapped Logan lightly on the shoulder. "Pull over, buddy." Logan seemed ready to protest - with due cause, seeing as they had just taken a bathroom break thirty minutes ago, and it wasn't like there were even the remotest signs of civilization in sight - but off of Alec's stern glower, he fell into subservience.   
  
Alec didn't even wait for the car to come to a full and complete stop. When the car slowed enough for his liking, he hopped out. Walking calmly around the car, he swung open Max's door and casually but firmly gripped her bicep. "Let's go for a little walk, Max." There it was: that imperious, condescending tone again. The only thing that kept Max from clocking him upside the head was the fact that there was a very impressionable six-year old quietly watching them from the front seat. It was time for her to do the right thing, be the bigger man, sort of.   
  
So she waited until she was absolutely convinced they were fully enclosed by the nearby forest to make a pass for his back of his skull. Which was sure enough intercepted by Alec's stronger grip. So now he had both her hands pinned, just great. So much for not making a total fool out of herself. She glared at him, as if daring him to humiliate her even more, for some reason her appetite for degradation had yet to be satisfied. Alec, on the other hand, seemed calm and contemplative; as if searching for the right words to say whatever he had to disclose.  
  
He suddenly released her and Max stumbled back a bit. He turned and walked a small ways away, coiling his fingers through the masses of brown locks. "Things aren't the same anymore," he began quietly. Though he was turned away, Max couldn't help but feel as if he was suppressing an injured air. The atmosphere around him was both arousing and disturbing. Even birds had paused their crooning, as if breathlessly clawing onto his next words. Something intangible about the setting sucked the wind out of Max's sails and the hushed electric hum cooled her resentment.  
  
"I know, Alec."  
  
Alec scoffed, cynical and hollow. The sound wafted passed Max, moving her with something akin to shame and pity. He looked over his shoulder, dully smirking at her ignorance. "No Max, you don't know." He spun around and meandered back towards her. He halted within a few feet of her, gauging her reaction. "After you first left, everyone hated you. Joshua hated you. I hated you. You were the one who told all of us to stick around and you turned out to be the first one to skip town. You, the high and mighty 452, the savior of transgenics, ran off. You said so yourself Max, 'It figures you'd forget the one good thing Manticore taught us: never abandon your unit!' " Alec had started quiet enough, but as he neared the end he finished off all but shouting. He hunched over a few seconds and forced his uneven breathing to slow, gulping down his ache.   
  
Max said nothing. She stared at the crown of his head and wondered at the bitter monstrosity she'd created. But even that was probably giving her too much credit. The sun didn't rise and set on her. But something informed her that she could take credit for this. Part of the Alec she'd known had been destroyed. Max could feel it in him. It was like she'd taken a sledge hammer to the fundamental nature of Alec. She'd broken part of him, and she had absolutely no idea how to fix him back together.  
  
Straightening, Alec came even closer to Max, until he was within inches of her. The sunlight's fingers stretched for his back, leaving her in his shadow. "But the more we realized you weren't coming back, the less we began to care. We don't care about you. When I spread the word that I'd be gone a couple of weeks to bring your sorry butt back, they just shrugged their shoulders." Max could feel him drifting away. It was as if the longer he talked, the more the wall was built between them. Each word was a brick, sealing him off. It started at their feet, working gradually up until it covered his eyes and she couldn't scale over. A steadfast, safe blockade. "Don't get any romantic notions, Max. Don't slink back into Terminal City and hope to find a couple hundred freaks that hate you. You're not even worth that."   
  
"Then why did you come back for me?" she asked softly.   
  
Alec frowned in disappointment, as if she had just missed some essential truth. He covered it quickly with a blank facade, almost before Max could wonder at the bleak glower. "Exposure," he lied.  
  
"We're already exposed. We came out of that closet a long time ago."  
  
"I mean, no one else knew you were gone. We kept under wraps. How could we build up good public relations when our front man was off gallivanting across the East Coast?"  
  
*****  
  
And of course Alec was right. They hadn't cared. And it was more acutely painful than any scenario she'd conjured up. At least with good old, home grown loathing there was a definite place to stand. Inside the gates of Terminal City, oppressed by the roving and restless crowds and dense Seattle fog, she had no ground to stand on. She didn't exist. On first spotting, the Manticorians looked at her with blank curiosity, and then they shrugged their shoulders to one another before going on about their business. Being on the backburner would have been a blessing; she had been thrown off the stove. Home sweet home.  
  
And it - in a word - sucked.   
  
For several weeks Max moved at a painstakingly slow pace in reintegrating herself into the freaks society. She avoided the Command Center like Trent Lott would avoid East St. Louis or Harlem. With the exception of Ray - who was given daily doses of Max's blood to avoid melting into a puddle of genetic pulp - she could go without speaking to a living soul for days at a time. It was a bleak existence for Max, but at least it was an honest one. She had committed her crime in Terminal City and she was more than prepared to serve her time here. And serve she did. From garbage disposal to sewer runs to laundry to bed pans, Max became a jack - or a jill, however one preferred to look at it - of all trades.   
  
But every cloud had that cliched silver lining, and Ray was hers. His sweet little smile and easy-going friendship - not to mention his ornery curiosity - had won over every resident in the freaks' haven almost instantly, despite his pedigree. Pregnant X5's doted on him while the X8's adopted him as their mascot. Seeing his blond head scamper through the dumps with his newfound friends on their quest for treasures made Max's heart soar.   
  
But with everyone else, even Logan, she became a soundless shadow, alleviating loads with a passive grace. But Ray, her tiny champion, always brought out her former fire and love for life. When her self-assigned tasks were finished and no one else seemed to need her help, she and Ray would tramp through alleys, pretending to be on Bourbon Street, and suddenly their meager rations transformed into crawfish poboys and sugary beignets. They spent their nights huddled against each other fabricating fantastic stories in the darkness.  
  
Life had slipped into a somewhat lethargic, but companionable survival. Apart from her charge, life held no real joys, but no real sorrows either. She decided in the end that being ignored was probably better than being hated. For the most part, Max was okay.  
  
*****  
  
Max let the crate slip from her hands with a liberated sigh, uncaring about the angry "thump!" it made when colliding with the ground. "Hey!" came the annoyed yell, soon followed by a six foot, some odd inched lizard-man and his usual entourage - a cloud of cigar smoke. If you give a transgen a box of Cuban cigars, he'll ask for a light. But if you drop his box of Cubans, he'll load his shotgun - which was still hanging at his side, ready to spring into action. The transgen gently probed at the box with sensitive, scaly fingers; like a mother would hover over a dropped infant. "You could have done some serious damage there Max!" From his squat on the dank and grimy pavement, he pinned her with an ominous glare. "And then I'd have to do some serious damage," he finished curtly.  
  
"Don't worry about it Mole. If those cigars could survive the turbulent sea-sickness on the boat trip from Cuba, plus the mishandling they had to cope with on the ride to Seattle, not too mention the hell the black market put them through, I highly doubt that dropping it a couple of measly inches will put too many new dents in your babies."   
  
Mole gazed up at her with shock, chomping heavily on his cigar. After a few moments he said, "So the ice queen does indeed speak. With the exception of Ray, not too many of us have been graced with more than five words from your queenly maw. That had to be like..." he pretended to tick off the words on his rough fingertips. "...fifty. My, the gods are smiling on me now aren't they?"  
  
Max beamed at him, another rarity for her. And for some reason - sarcasm aside - Mole really did feel blessed. She shrugged in her old devil-may-care manner. "Well, I had to rejoin the three-ring circus social elite sometime, didn't I?"  
  
Having already decided the cigars weren't maimed in their mistreatment, Mole rose to his feet. With something that could almost be misconstrued as a smile, he thumped her on the shoulder playfully. "Good to have you back, Max," he said with the tiniest hint of sincere enthusiasm. He quickly fell back into his normal menacing pose, propped up against the slime-slick walls of the compound, thick arms heavily crossed over his chest. "Don't get me wrong. I don't like ya. But having you with some bite is much better than having you playing 'tame'."   
  
"So...you don't hate me?" Max asked, suddenly needing his approval - not that she'd ever admit it to him.   
  
"Heck no," Mole said. "You won me fifty bucks. Why should I hate you?"  
  
Max's brow puckered in confusion, trying to make the connection between her recent excursion and his fifty bucks. It was a lost cause. "So, how exactly did I win you fifty bucks?"  
  
"I bet Dix that you'd run." He continued to himself, pensively sucking his cigar. "Well, actually Dix owes me a hundred now, seeing as I said I'd be the first you'd really talk to. I could buy myself a whole 'nother case of merchandise."  
  
Max took the blow to her dented - but fully intact - pride with her usual grace: none. An angry flush swam up her chest and across her cheeks. "You what?!?"  
  
"I bet Dix that you'd run," he repeated even more matter-of-factly than the last time. "You're a Niner. It's what you do: heavy commitment results in running. You know, despite popular opinion, I'm not a complete idiot. I took those little psych classes. You had a Type-A case of commitment-phobia." He glanced in her direction. His eyes were not imperious by any means, just practical. He shrugged again and puffed thoughtfully. "I just knew it would happen, nothing personal."  
  
Astonishingly, Max actually chuckled. "So I guess this makes you my new shrink, huh? That's good, seeing how my self-prognosis was a little less objective than it should be." She paused, suddenly pensive. "So why exactly did Dix bet against you? He could've spotted the same characteristic a million miles away."  
  
Now Mole did smile, not an unpleasant change from his ever-present scowl. "I think he mentioned something about liking 'long shots'." And Max laughed in response: belly deep, soul deep, hunched over, piss-your-pants-roaring. Not that the remark was even funny, it just felt so good to laugh. The floodgates had been blasted, releasing months of suppressed moments of levity. She had felt guilty for even smiling for so long, knowing she was the cause of Original Cindy's untimely end. But now in the midst of adversity on all sides - not to mention the little audience she'd collected with her jovial outburst - she felt ready to laugh again. Hope flared.   
  
Swallowing the last of her giggles, Max looked up at Mole, who seemed a bit self-conscious by being so close to the spotlight of several transgenics' curiosity. Squaring her shoulders with a happy sigh, she stuck out her hand. "Allow me to reintroduce myself. My name is Max. I am a chocaholic, X5 Niner with a serious commitment complex and a need for anger management."   
  
Mole gave the perimeter a surreptitious once over. When he was convinced the coast was clear and all freaks had returned to business as usual, he slipped his palm into hers. "I'm Mole. The chain-smoking transgen with a trigger-happy finger, any number of serious social disorders, and a blatant disrespect for authority."  
  
Again, another swell of laughter swallowed Max, and even the stoic Mole couldn't help but chuckle. Picking up his cigars, Mole and Max strolled down the alley, catching up on each other's lives.   
  
Alec stood up from behind a nearby dumpster and stared after the retreating duo. A mirthless smile crossed his face as he denied any traces of jealousy. Pretending he was happy, Alec strolled back toward the command center; hands in his back pockets, shoulders slumped.  
  
*****  
  
Yeah, Max was okay.   
  
So it really wasn't all that surprising when her world flipped upside down yet again.   
  
It was merely ironic. Just when both when Max was avoiding Alec the most, the ice was cracked between them: at the hands of Dix and Mole.   
  
Max's first trip back to the command center. She wiped her palms on her grimy jeans, popped her neck, and tried to force the palpitations of her thudding heart to cease. "Max, you are an absolutely pitiful excuse for a barcode baby," she whispered to herself. "Now get in there and hand the list to Dix right now." With her old bite, she flung the door open. She strode in, pointedly ignoring the curious stares - they seemed to become more and more frequent these days -, and waltzed right up to the cycloptic unnatural form of human life, who seemed busy poring over some ancient Minoan. She threw the information down on the table. Completely unfazed by her show of annoyance, Dix glanced up dismally from his dusty texts. "To what do we owe this honor?"   
  
"You asked for the list of needed supplies suggested by the pregnant X5's." She fingered the sheet of recycled paper. "You asked. I delivered."   
  
"I didn't ask for it," he drawled, returning to his transcripts.   
  
Max blinked. "But Mole said that you..."  
  
"I asked for it." A sturdy arm circled around her waist to retrieve the paper in question, before bringing it to his face and studying it carefully. Even while scouring the list, two hazel eyes occasionally glanced over the slip of paper to scrutinize the messenger.  
  
Alec.  
  
Across the room, Mole smirked. Max caught it. "I'm going to kill you," she mouthed. Sensing the interchange between the two, Alec asked "Should we leave you two alone?" Hastily returning her attention to more urgent demands on her sanity - the man within six inches of her suddenly suffocating personal space - she spat out a quick "no." She glared at Mole again for added effect, which only engorged his pleasure at her present discomfort. He saluted crisply and promptly left the building.  
  
"Chicken," she muttered. Alec's curious eyes fell on her again, simultaneously pounding her into the ground and pitching her through the air. His eyebrows lifted with that usual imperious tone. Max felt her submissive shield snap. "Why are you so suddenly concerned about the welfare of some pregnant chicks, Alec? Are a few of the incoming brats yours?" she accused.  
  
The cores of Alec's pupils froze over, spreading their liquid ice across his irises until his entire eyes were as hard and cold as glass beads. All warmth and curiosity vanished as his entire body stiffened in response, solid as stone. Staring down at her, his eyes tried to read her soul, as if trying unravel the mysteries of her constant spite. Hot fire blazed across his eyes, but instead of thawing his demeanor it only made the chill more harsh and acute. The breath froze in her lungs, clinging to the interior sacs like frost on a windowpane.  
  
And then in the very far off space, Dix coughed. The moment passed, but the memory was a hovering ghost, unwilling to be forgotten even in death. Alec caught his himself, visibly relaxed, and stalked past Max. The few dozen trangenics meandering around the command center parted like the Red Sea for their commander. Obviously the chill of his disposition wafted across them as well, for almost all heads turned back to her accusingly as they heard to door slam at his exit.   
  
Dix whistled appreciatively. Mole, appearing out of nowhere - no small feat for a man of his stature -, nodded in agreement. "You sure now how to treat 'em there, Max." She whirled around brusquely, obviously still itching for a long-awaited fight. "What are you talking about, you overgrown Geico ad?"   
  
Mole blew on his cigar, shaking his head disappointedly. "Now you see, you got the wrong genus there. Geckos are teeming with cute and lacking in spice. Not my style."  
  
"Whatever," she huffed.  
  
"The point is: that poor X5 was worried sick over you the past few months. Can't count how many times I saw him wandering TC in the middle of the night."  
  
Dix nodded his head in concurrence. "Yeah. In the end, you leaving TC was the best and worst thing to happen to him. On the one hand, he took command better than anyone could have expected..."  
  
"On the other hand," Mole continued. "Only when Logan got a lead on you did he get more than a couple hours of sleep a night. The night you got back was probably the fullest night's sleep he had in months."  
  
Max slumped back against a nearby makeshift table, feeling oddly weak around the knees. "I had no idea...he never even..." In the end, she refused to believe it. "He said no one cared."  
  
Both Mole and Dix's eyebrows shot up. "No one?" Dix repeated doubtfully, sneaking a glance at the still swaying door Alec had disappeared through. Max nodded, trying to feel better at being able to brush off the sudden charge of emotions only moments ago. But the memory of the hotel room and the woody rendezvous were not so easily swayed; their confident grip preyed on the back of her mind.   
  
In particular, the sudden longing she had felt when - for a split second - his gaze had fallen on her lips.  
*****  
I know I'm crossing over the Max/Mole friendship, but I can't shake the idea that those two have the best chemistry. (Huh, they have better chemistry than Max and Logan...just kidding.) 


	4. Pouting isn't Pretty

Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
CHAPTER 4  
  
"Pouting isn't pretty," a young voice cried across the breeze.  
  
Alec, who'd been happily occupied planning several methods of the demise of everyone's favorite X5, glanced down from his secluded perch on top of his "Shoddy Shack", as he so lovingly called it, towards the guileless cherub face that was Ray. His child-sized blue eyes sparkled with tongue-in-cheek chiding and a whisper of insight. Fingers wrapped securely around the slimy fire escape ladder, he let his tiny nymph body dangle back and forth lazily, seemingly innocent of the laws of gravity and the cement a few hundred feet below him.  
  
Alec was tempted to warn the kid about the many negative aspects of becoming a pancake against the unforgiving pavement. But even as the words formed on the tip of his tongue he swallowed them. It was too much a Max-like thing to do, and he took every satisfaction of spiting her, with or without her knowledge. But it seemed any warning would be redundant, for Ray hopped up on the roof within moments. He idly crossed the distance between them then hopped and turned slightly in mid-air, coming down on the roof ledge with an enthusiastic little grunt. Minus some excess body hair and a garbled foreign tongue, Ray for all the world reminded Alec of one of those little teddy bear eewogs he'd once seen in one of those "Star Wars" movies. And like Princess Leia, Alec too found himself charmed against his will. The tiny thigh that slid against his was oddly warming.  
  
Ray though, seemed unaffected by the close contact. Unlike Alec, he'd grown up underneath the loving caresses of his mother, his aunt, and now Max. A tiny nip of envy sank its teeth into Alec, as a bittersweet smile came to his face. Nothing to make one feel so jaded as sitting next to a child's innocence. His thoughts though, were destined to be interrupted again.  
  
"Pouting isn't pretty."  
  
Tearing his eyes away from the freefalling sun, Alec spared a glance at the other audience member, but his couldn't really see Ray's eyes behind all of the purple sunspots. "I'm not pouting," he said.  
  
"Yes you are."  
  
"No I'm not."  
  
"Yes you are," Ray sang. Alec shrugged his shoulders. His expertise was assassination, not inane squabbling. Ray was just a kid, he could probably go at it for hours.  
  
Now that the sunspots were fading, he could see the slight challenge in the child's eyes. The boy leaned forward slightly and whispered conspiratorially, "Whether you give up arguing with me or not, it still isn't pretty." The X5 felt himself smile back and leaned forward also, their noses scant inches apart. "Let's pretend I am pouting," he shot back in the same hushed tone. "What makes you say pouting isn't pretty?"  
  
"Aunt Max told me so. She tells me that a lot." Ray nodded wisely, like a child that just learned an important fact of life, and was now teaching it to a friend.  
  
Pulling back from the undeclared staring contest, Alec scoffed. "Well if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black," he whispered to himself.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing. It's just a saying," he said, waving his fingers through the air as if illustrating. "It means that 'Aunt Max' has no room to tell you not to pout when she does so all the time."  
  
Ray seemed perturbed, slightly miffed even. He defensively shot back, "She doesn't do it anymore, not really. She did when we first met, but she'd just lost her sister. She only does it around you anymore."  
  
The last words slapped Alec out of his engrossment with the setting sun, which had just dipped beneath the horizon as twilight settled in, coloring the world in a secretive, conniving flush. He turned on Ray, a question in his eye. But Ray was already standing and dusting the light coat of dirt off of his clothes, making his way toward the ladder and heading back down for the real world. "That's impossible," Alec shouted after him in defiance. The rise to his feet was almost comical in its rush to follow Ray and the distinct unsteadiness accompanying a sudden revelation. He clambered down the ladder after the boy, continuing the conversation. "Today was the first time we'd talked to each other since...since you guys came back."  
  
Ray let himself drop the last few feet down and landed on the first platform with a metallic slap, the impact jarring his tiny legs. Shrugging at the X5's non-question/question, he began to head down the next level when he felt himself jerked back. Alec grabbed him by the back of the shirt and lightly flipped the boy around in mid-air before settling him firmly on the rail of the fire escape. Ray, partly filled with glee and terror at being lobbed through the air a couple hundred feet above ground, merely gazed up at the man leaning over him in wide-eyed wonder. "Today was the first time we talked to each other," he continued, sounding unconvinced. "Right?"  
  
"Yes," the kid said, sliding off the railing and away from the danger of testing the Familiars' ability to fly. "But Aunt Max has seen you before. Lots of times."  
  
Now Alec was beyond confused. Besides a couple of gatherings of the entire population of Terminal City, the Mole incident, and then the disaster at the Command Center today, he hadn't gotten more than a couple glimpses of the ghost formerly known as Max since her return from vacation. "What do you mean, 'lots of times'?"  
  
By now the child's patience was running thin. "Lots of times!" he shouted, punctuating the words with his hands flying through the air. "But every time we see you, she makes us go around the long way."  
  
"You mean she's been avoiding me?" Alec felt a self-righteous irritation crawl across his barcode. How dare she...?  
  
Being an apt pupil of Max's dramatic tutelage, Ray smacked his palm against his forehead, before racking his fist through his blond locks. For being so genetically superior to ordinaries, these X5's sure were dumb. "Yes! She's been avoiding you! Can I go now?"  
  
Alec tightly gripped the slime-covered metal rail with both hands, momentarily lost in his own thoughts. His knuckles whitened under the pressure, a stark contrast the purple sheen of twilight and the brown metal of the rail. Ray's eyes widened. Perhaps he'd been a little to nasty at Alec's obvious turn of stupidity. But before the kid could work up a decent fear of the man before him, the X5 returned to his normal self. Almost. The grin he threw towards the boy didn't quite reach his eyes. For a moment, Ray was quite ashamed. Somehow, something he had said had hurt his friend Alec. Needing to make amends, he slipped his little hand over Alec's, who glanced down with a rueful smile.  
  
The X5 cleared his throat gruffly. One hand already holding the child's, he let the other hand ruffle his hair. Ray shrieked in response. Giggling, he vainly tried to tidy the messed locks. "Yeah, squirt," Alec said. "Let's go back." The rest of the trip back to the troop was silent; content in one's minded, troubled in the other.   
  
*****  
  
"I will sell you my soul for a cigar." Max flopped down on the crates exhaustedly, kneading her neck. With vague interest, she perused the game table. Luke, Dix, Mole, Joshua, and an X5 named Joe playing poker. So far it seemed the X5 was cleaning house; his abstract bounty of candy, cigars, and tube socks bulged in comparison to his competitors'.   
  
"I didn't realized you smoked, Max," Mole mused, peering disdainfully down at his hand. "I fold."  
  
"I don't," she said. She popped open the first few buttons on her shirt and fanned her chest against the heat. A competitive silence fell over the players. Joe, distracted by Max's dismal attempts to ward off the heat, lost the next three hands. But he lost them rather cheerfully. Realizing he had duty that night to guard the perimeter, he left the table - more reluctantly than usual - sneaking several peeks back in Max's general direction. Max claimed his place in the game.  
  
"I don't have anything to gamble with," she confessed.   
  
Dix scoffed, "And you think we do? How do you think we worked our way down to tube socks?"  
  
"It's practical," Max defended. "How about if I strip?" she joked.  
  
Mole chuckled, puffing out small clouds of tobacco induced smoke. "Then Joe would really be kicking himself for leaving. You should come around more often when we play Max. Joe seems to have a splash of Vegas in his gene pool and you seem to even the playing field."  
  
"Right," Max drawled. "With so many fine looking ladies around here, I highly doubt a washed up X5 runner is enough to catch his fancy."  
  
"It works for some," Joshua said cryptically. Max practically fell out of her chair. Since her return to T.C., the dog man had snubbed her. He was dead in Alec's corner, following his lead on how to treat the deserter. Max fairly beamed in appreciation at any words from her one time friend, but Joshua tactfully ignored the smile, completely absorbed in his cards.   
  
The next few rounds passed in an almost friendly silence. She won a couple hands, followed by Dix. The game was interrupted, however, with the entrance of Max's - and now Alec's - charge. Ray, completely oblivious to the sudden tension between his two best "big" friends, leapt into his "aunt's" arms, chatting animatedly about all the adventures of the day. Only once did she summon the courage to lift her eyes from Ray to his recent babysitter, who looked almost comically both stern and bemused.   
  
She turned back to Ray, who was describing the stop sign he and a couple of X6's found in a sewer. When Alec's attention shifted away from her she could physically feel it, relieved by the loss of strain on her nerves, but filled by an strange void.   
  
*****  
  
When Ray awoke the next day with a scratchy throat and his less than normally chipper mood, Max wrote it off. Kids get sick, it was a fact of life. The hacking cough that began to rack his body over the next week not only cost Max precious sleep - even sharks slept - but gave her a few gray hairs as well. But it wasn't until Max had spent the greater part of a Saturday morning pushing the hair back from Ray's head while he emptied the contents of his not-quite-full stomach and crooning small comforts in his ear that she let herself truly worry. Now pacing back and forth across the dingy hallway of Terminal City's make-shift sickbay, Max cursed herself for not bringing him to the medics sooner. Her self-inflicted abuse followed her light steps, echoing across the empty hall. Later, when Max's own erratic footsteps were harmonized by a calmer, heavier beat, she looked up.   
  
"Max."  
  
"Alec."  
  
"Well, I'm glad we haven't forgotten each other's names," he tried to joke, but it fell flat. Silently Max returned to her pacing. Thankfully a third party joined them before more could be said, which would have eventually lead to bleeding - him bleeding. Evita, a somber, lithe transgen majoring in the medicinal arts, left the room holding Ray hostage - in Max's opinion - and strode up to the pair, making final glances over the notes on her clipboard.  
  
"It's really simple," the medic explained, turning a slightly accusatory glance towards Max. Ever since Evita had joined the rogue race at T.C., Ray seemed to be the only one to charm her. He had quickly weaseled his way through her moody exterior with his curious questions and frank observations. Ray had become a favorite of hers, and she apparently held Max responsible for his present illness. But before Max could even defend her care-taking abilities, the medic said, "He's sick of you. Literally."  
  
Max's fist tightened at her side, ready to throttle the little pipsqueak for having the nerve to accuse her of any neglect. But once again, the medic took the wind out of her sails. "Ray's still suffering from the ceremonial inoculation. Between this and the transfusions of your blood, it has wiped out his little system."  
  
Max's eyebrows skyrocketed in surprise and confusion, while Alec silently soaked in her response. "But I thought the blood transfusions would help him," she said.  
  
Evita nodded. "Yes. They do help, but they also hurt. Although they keep him from becoming a puddle of genetic slime, that retrovirus isn't taking too well to his system. You see, it is specifically targeted to Logan's system, but the mix of the retrovirus plus the inoculation plus a strained system equals a very sick Ray."  
  
Max chewed on her thumbnail. "Is there anything that can be done?"  
  
"Obviously this has been building up for months, with your constant contact with his skin. But the transfusions are what have cut down his immunities exponentially. He will be perfectly fine in a few days, but it would be best if you avoided any sort physical contact with Ray for a few weeks. You'll also need a new volunteer to transfuse blood."  
  
"I can do it," Alec offered almost before Evita got the words out and both females jerked their heads in his direction in surprise.   
  
"Can I see him?" Max asked. Evita shook her head with a rather unsympathetic "No."   
  
"Why not?"  
  
"He's very vulnerable right now. It would be best if you avoided any contact with him for a few days as he rides out the worst part."  
  
  
  
"But..."  
  
"No buts, Max. Unless of course you want his condition to get worsen," she dropped accusingly. Off of Max's forlorn but determined look, Evita nodded. "Then stay away a few days." With an insincere smile in Max's direction and one not-so-insincere in Alec's, the woman bounced down the hall.  
  
"That little bi..." Giving up on all pretenses of self-will, Max started after her with every intention of a beat down. A forgotten Alec clamped his hand down around her wrist, causing Max to stumble back and bounce of his chest. Overlooking Evita, Max turned on him instead. "Where do you get off...?"  
  
"I hear Vancouver's nice this time of year," Alec lazily replied. Max's jaw clenched in response. "You know," Alec began easily. "If those nostrils of yours flare a little bit further, I bet you could fit at least a Brussels sprout or two up in there."   
  
"Shut up, Alec!"  
  
Deciding to change his tune, Alec calmly latched his other hand on her empty wrist. "Easy there, tiger. Don't freak out on me. Ray is going to be fine in a coupla days." Consoled a bit, Max's angry mask sank into her real emotion...worry. Alec's fingers subconsciously rubbed her wrist. He didn't feel the gesture but Max did. For one moment, Max was tempted to see Alec in a new light. Her eyes gripped his and found a new softness there that she had never seen before.   
  
Then he opened his mouth. A mischievous grin crossed his face and his eyes began to dance again. "You know, I have it on very good - though very tiny - authority that 'pouting isn't pretty.' I was just wondering if you had gotten that memo."  
  
Max growled and didn't even resist her most primitive urge. Whaap! Her hand cut across his shoulder. She stalked down the hall muttering something about "bastards in gentlemen's clothing." Alec was left in her angry wake holding his shoulder. His fingers tested the flesh lightly and he hissed. Yup, there would be some definite bruising. In fact, if Max would have angled her shot a little better she could have had the honor of dislocating his shoulder. Obviously Anger Management 101 wasn't on the itinerary during her little cruise. Pretty soon Alec would return to being the constant brunt of her ire.  
  
So why was it he could not stop that idiotic grin from spreading across his face?  
  
A/N: I know it was shorter than I had intended. I had the story stuck at this same place for a couple of weeks and I couldn't decide how to work around it. Although I wanted to add more on, severe writer's block has had me well...blocked. I've had a very tiny epiphany but I'm not sure how that'll work in yet. Any patience is much appreciated.  
  
A/N 2: It's official: any intelligence I might have had at one time is now falling to teenage hormones. I picked up the DA DVD...the first day it was out...and watched "Pollo Loco" first. Someone stop the insanity. 


	5. Singin' in the Rain

Disclaimer: They ain't mine.  
  
A/N: Things are not going as I had planned. Of course, I didn't exactly have this story planned. So then again, maybe this is going perfectly to plan. Oye, what a world.  
  
CHAPTER 5  
  
Maybe Alec just wasn't destined for any point of normalcy on the roadmap of his rather chaotic life.   
  
Laboring over supply lists wasn't helping clear his mind so he threw down the papers against the table, which made a soft "whish" as they slapped down and branched out. He stood from his chair slowly, glancing around the empty Command Center, then stretched lethargically and yawned; Max was seriously cramping his style, not to mention his muscles. Eyes glanced down at a watch. Four-thirty in the friggin' morning. In two hours he'd have to be starting a new day, without the chance of sleeping the last one off. The thought was enough to make him yawn again.  
  
A gruff voice resonated in the empty silence behind him. "Someone up early."  
  
Not even glancing back to see who his possible night owl companion might be, Alec strode over to the computer, ready to bury himself in more work. "Late, actually," he lazily corrected, stifling yet another yawn. This yawing thing was just getting ridiculous. "What are you doin' up, Joshua?"  
  
"Couldn't sleep."  
  
"Me neither."  
  
"Nightmares."  
  
"Same here."  
  
"Annie."  
  
"Not tellin'."  
  
"Max?"  
  
Silence. The deft fingers on the keyboard quickened their already rapid pace, noisily punctuated by the frustration flying out of Alec's fingers. Behind him, Joshua nodded sadly, wishing he were wrong.   
  
"Alec doesn't need to hide from friends."  
  
"Joshua, I hide from everyone, including myself."  
  
A silence fell across the shadowed room. Alec kept himself busy, tapping into new files and checking over their already scant income. Seeing the recent budget cuts made him grimace through his next yawn. "Looks like we're going to need to find some more thugs to steal from." Receiving no response, Alec glanced behind him. Joshua's forlorn air made a small slice in Alec's amiable - but normally impenetrable - exterior. He crossed the floor in hushed strides while Joshua flumped into a creaking couch. The X5 flopped next to him.   
  
  
  
Instinctively Alec pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms to secure them in place, which was one of his more vulnerable positions. Joshua had been seeing that particular position a lot more recently, which only grew more frequent with a certain X5 back in the fold. Normally his friend tried to hide it, but after Joshua had stumbled across his late night vigils more than a few times, he started to recognize the symptoms. Alec yawned again, lazily closing his eyes and dropping his dark head to his knees. After several minutes of companionable silence, both transgens felt the tensions slip between them. It was easier to share their two burdens between them than to take on one all alone. A comrade in arms making it less trying to guard against the unpromising night.   
  
The lessened tension made it easier for the hairier of the two to venture on. "Alec want to talk." A statement, not a question. The arms draped across Alec's shins rose and tightened around his knees, effectively cutting off all of his face from his friend's view. Alec shook his head slowly, as if the short brown hair brushing back and forth across the forearms was just too drained to go on.   
  
"Liar."  
  
The hair on the back of Alec's neck leapt to attention. He managed to grind out, "I don't want to talk, Josh."  
  
"What does Alec want?"   
  
Almost faster than the transgen eye could see, the X5 blurred to his feet, his face contorted between despair and rage. "I want to...to...argh!" Losing the grip on his normally even-temper, Alec grabbed one unfortunate crate and threw it against the wall, relishing in its pained cry as it cracked. "I want to...to kick Max to the curb and let her be chopped up by White and his familiars. I want to lock her up and never let her out of my sight again." Alec rambled on and on, pacing back and forth across the floor. "She treated me like crap and then disappeared without so much as a goodbye. So what do I do? I get Logan - Logan of all people! - to help me track her down. Then I ride a couple thousand miles with the guy to pick her sorry carcass up! Do you know how close she was to getting caught? Given another day or two and White would have snatched her and..." The poor guy was so frustrated he couldn't even finished his sentence. His fists flew through the air as if grappling for the words, becoming more and more frustrated when they came back empty each time.   
  
"And here's the real kicker, Joshua. I save her, I bring her back, I make sure no one gives her crap, and what to I get? Nothing! Not so much as a 'Gee, thanks Alec. I didn't realize I could have gotten myself and an innocent six year-old killed.'" Coming across the same unfortunate crate, he kicked it across the room; no small feat, even for a transgenic.   
  
Joshua sat on the couch watching the impassioned tirade, torn between fear and relief. He'd never seen Alec so emotional and heated - not to mention inarticulate -, which was a terrifying difference when considering his normally stoic state; but part of Joshua also saw the moment as a much needed release. He was just glad no one else was there to be a witness, otherwise Alec's standing as the levelheaded leader of Terminal City would be quite efficiently blown to smithereens.   
  
"...And did you know she has had the nerve to avoid me? Yeah, Ray filled me in on that small detail. So I see her in the infirmary the other day, having every last intention of calling her out. And guess what? I got distracted. The next thing I know I'm jumping to help her brat, and when she bounces off I am left with this idiotic grin on my face." He stopped in the middle of the floor, staring down at the dust gratefully taking the chance to settle at his feet. Alec glanced up then, surprised, though it was hard to tell what he was more surprised about - him blowing his top or having such a shocked bystander. "I'm tired of her always having to be a step ahead of me, you know? It's like even now, with me having the competitive edge, I still just can't win." On the word "win," the X5 slammed his fist against the table in repressed frustration, causing his knuckles to bleed and a computer to teeter off the edge of the table and hurtle to the ground unnoticed.   
  
He gracefully collapsed against the table then, taking in strength from the cool metal. Joshua watched as Alec's resolve hardened, the doors clanging shut in his face. Calming down to a rational level, he continued. "I want to be pissed with her...no, I am pissed with her. Why can't she just leave me alone so I can just be pissed and be happy?" Thoroughly sullen, Alec turned and slapped down against the couch and returned to his "vulnerable position." With the exception of Joshua's wide-eyed, stunned silence, it was almost as if the tirade had never taken place. It was like a glitch in time, and suddenly things were back to the norm.  
  
Once Joshua's shock wore off, he began to mull over what Alec had said. His furry head bobbed back and forth, reliving the one-sided conversation - more like an eruption - in his mind. Finally, Joshua came to a conclusion. "Alec wrong."  
  
The X5's head snapped up, thinking over all the possible implications of what his friend had said. "Yeah, you're right. Ray's really not that bad. He's really cute actually, with the blonde hair, and that devilishly cute face. Must have gotten the good looks from his mother but the devilish part..."  
  
"Not what I meant, Alec."  
  
Alec raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Logan's not so bad either." Off of Joshua's stern look, he sighed, "Well, fine. What exactly is it that you mean?"  
  
"Not mad at Max for the reasons you think."  
  
Alec cast his eyes heavenward in concentration and ticked off Max's sins on his fingers. "Desertion, general stupidity, cowardliness, child endangerment, ungratefulness...yeah, I can see why I mad at her for all the wrong reasons." The edge crept back into Alec's voice, as if both amazed and irked that Joshua could even dare bring Max the weakest defense. Sensing his ire, Joshua pacified him. "I'm not defending her, Alec."  
  
"Fine, O great and powerful Oz, what exactly do you mean?"  
  
"Alec mad at Max for all those reasons too. But the real reason is: Max throws Alec."  
  
"Huh?" Alec turned to his friend, knowing that despite a limited word bank, Joshua was incredibly - not to mention eerily - insightful.  
  
  
  
"Max throws you off..." He looked questioningly into the air, sniffing for the word. "...killer?"  
  
"Off killer," Alec repeated dumbly. The light bulb flicked on. "Oh, you mean off-kilter." The dog-man nodded emphatically. He leaned forward conspiratorially, moving his heavy hands as if painting in the disease-laden air. "From the beginning, Max always confuse Alec. You're caught in a trap, never know what to feel or think. She always push away, but never letting you go. Now Max come back, seeming happy here, but avoid you. Maybe it is time to...turn table?"  
  
Despite his better efforts, Alec couldn't help but lean forward himself, subtly hoping for a solution. "How?"  
  
"Max avoid you. Knows your anger. Seek her out, she won't know what to think. Don't let her have the power. Piss her off."  
  
Alec flopped back against the arm of the couch, flabbergasted by his hairy conspirator. The wheels began to turn again. And for the second time in what felt like ages, Alec let himself truly smile.  
  
Why hadn't he thought of that?  
  
*****   
  
Gem's head peered over a stack of serviceable metal sheets and wood scraps, soon to be crafted into homes for the ever expanding rat race of Terminal City. Unaware of her audience, Max pried another decently sized wood chunk, let it pass after a quick inspection and threw it on her pile, oblivious of her near rearranging of Gem's pretty features. Despite the obvious dangers, Gem kept her presence to herself and took the chance to give the other X5 a quick inspection.   
  
She'd obviously be getting her weight back to a healthier level but was still a bit on the skinny side. The dirty, slightly curled hair reaching for her shoulders partially covered the smudged, high cheekbones whenever she stooped for another find. Her eyes too sunken, but to this particular beholder, she was still as striking as the day they had met. She wasn't necessarily a beautiful person by physical appearance; her lips were too puffy for that - which were only truly pretty when she smiled -, her hands a bit too stout and fingers too masculine. But her essence, her spirit, captured those who would give her a second glance. Even though subdued and returning with a broken pride, there was still a backbone to Max that made her stand out in the crowd when she stepped back into Terminal City, although stunted by Alec's angry stance and glare. Her grit wasn't cowed by the masses of freaks who were coldly stoical, as well as some of the unwelcome mats several bolder transgenics laid out for her - or on her.  
  
Needless to say, Max had always had herself an admirer in Gem; not to mention several of the males, who were steadily becoming less and less covert in their appreciative glances the more they saw the distance between 452 and her silently protective shield, Alec. Female glares were beginning to tally up too.  
  
Another wooden thud knocked Gem out of her little trip down memory lane, who saw that the wall of surplus leftovers had begun to loom rather precariously over her head since she had checked out. Ducking around the leaning tower of miscellaneous materials, she strolled towards Max with that childlike I-know-something-you-don't-know look smeared across her face. Max glanced up then, and straightened to greet Gem warmly.   
  
"Lovely weather, ain't it?" Both chuckled and threw a dismal glance at the sky, which promised its usual gift to Seattle: rain.  
  
"Yeah," Gem agreed. "The brain parade says we have exactly 30 minutes and 8 seconds before the storm settles in for the night."  
  
"When was this?"  
  
Gem shrugged in amusement and relative indifference. "About an hour ago, give or take 30 minutes." The two shared a smile before the redhead glanced at her watch and returned her attention to the cloud-laden sky which covered the city in late dusk-like darkness, mumbling, "Four, three, two, one..." Then the first adventurous drops fell from the sky, soon joined by millions of cousins, the monsoon pooling in the sunken segments of the streets rapidly.   
  
"Quittin' time!" Gem hollered over the ringing clang of pouring rain on the metal sheets just behind them. Max nodded in agreement, saying, "You know, I get that they're born and bred Manticore alum and all, but the brain parade's accuracy is really starting to freak me out."   
  
"I hear ya!" Gem called back. She nodded down the street where the crowds were beginning to form, hiding from the storm. "I'll race ya!"  
  
"You're on!"   
  
Both tore down the street laughing, gathering with the masses inside the parking garage at the end of Terminal City. The generators kicked in and the lights flickered on, which seem to transform the general disgruntlement of the crowd into a more cheerful mood under the intimately dim lights. Friends roved around looking for other friends, everyone gathering into cozy groups and discussing the day's events and work, not to mention the incident cutting them short. One group's discussion of food flew across the crowd like a wildfire with most of the crowd dispersing in hot pursuit, leaving the others behind.  
  
"How's Ray?"  
  
"Much better. Doc says I can see him in a couple days." Doc was a panther-like jack-of-all-trades, but due to his extensive expertise in the remedial sciences - and the freaks lack of true proficiency - Doc had become the designated surgeon. Personally Max found him infinitely more appealing than Evita. Just the thought of her snide little face brought a scowl to mar Max's good mood.  
  
Mole walked over to the duo staring out into the rain with children's delight, carrying two towels. Although ragged and fraying, they seemed to be the last two left in everyone's rush to get dry. He chucked them and the pair caught them, who began drawing the moisture from their own bodies. Not wanting to be mistaken for engaging in an act of kindness, he easily explained, "The two of you looked like a coupla drowned rats, a real eyesore. I was just tryin' to improve the view, not to mention the fun it was pushing all the scrawny X6's out of the way in the line for towels."  
  
"Gee Mole, you really are a humanitarian," Max deadpanned. "Are you sure you don't want to keep the towels for yourself? We really would hate to have you melt under all that water."  
  
Catching on to the line Max was throwing, he retorted, "Hey, do I look like the kind of guy who wants a pair of ruby slippers?" He paused and puffed on his cigar thoughtfully. "I will take that dog though, but I'm gonna need just a little bit of hot sauce."  
  
Max laughed. "Don't tell Joshua."  
  
Turning away towards the smell of food, Mole replied, "I won't if you won't." He strolled away, leaving the aroma of fresh Cuban nicotine behind to clog both the X5's sensitive nasal passages.  
  
"You know, despite the increasing crime rates since the Pulse, second-hand smoke is still a leading killer in the States," Max called after him. Halfway across the compound and drowned out by the heavy rainfall, she thought she heard him reply with something akin to "Send me your funeral bill!"  
  
Still chuckling, Max was surprised by the assessing look she intercepted from Gem. "What?"  
  
The redhead shrugged and leaned against a chipped cement pillar, her curious expression half-covered by shadows. "I can't decide if you know or not. And if you don't know, I'm not too sure I want to be the one to tell you."  
  
Max was thoroughly bemused. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Well obviously you don't know." A pregnant pause. "Funds are low again. Rumor has it that Alec is going to ask you to help run a scam."  
  
"Well I guess the 'to tell or not to tell' debate flew right by," Max deadpanned, not at all believing. She laughed and turned away, her own stomach beginning to demand something warm - and from the smell wafting through the air, cheesy.   
  
Gem's hand latched on her arm. "I'm serious, Max. I honestly think he's recruiting you. And it's pretty obvious to everyone in T.C. that you are less than calm around him. Everyone's caught your ducking act whenever you see Alec around the corner, dragging Ray by the wrist. By the way, you should probably be more careful. I think you've given that poor kid whiplash a couple times."  
  
Max chuckled again, a little more forced this time, refusing to even consider such a ludicrous possibility. She stared hard at the other X5, trying to weigh the credibility. While one side of her mind argued her current status didn't exactly give her means of access to the thrill of B & E, the other kept bouncing back with Gem's reliability. She wasn't the kind to lie anymore than she was the kind prone to gullibility and gossip. Part of Max's ornery feline DNA beamed at the thought of returning to her more carefree - albeit slightly lawless - roots, but any excitement kept being shot down by recalling Alec's heavy glowers.   
  
Gem glanced behind her now troubled friend to see the most recent arrivals coming for sanctuary from the ever-thundering storm. A young man and boy, X5 and X6 probably. They ran tightly together under their makeshift umbrella - a coat or jacket perhaps? - through puddles the size of Lake Erie, blissfully uncaring of the muck filling their shoes and the lower halves of their frazzled jeans. Like Max and Gem's entrance, the two crossed the threshold laughing, several yards away from Max's turned back. Gem couldn't identify them with the X5's face turned away and the younger boy fairly hidden behind his body. Both were thoroughly soaked and the taller of the duo's leather jacket - the former umbrella - was weighed down in watery mud and grainy gravel bits, which also splashed lightly across his neck.   
  
A small smile twittered across Gem's lips, the motherly instincts that even Manticore couldn't beat out warmed by the disorderly Norman Rockwell-like moment. When the X5's face turned from his companion's to her line of sight, the warmth of the grin froze over like an early flower drowned in a late frost. Alec, unaware of her apparent discomfort, beamed in her direction. Gem made a commendable amount of eye contact and managed a small nod. But when Alec's curiosity drifted to her friend, his eyes too froze over in recognition. Alec shooed the boy - who now Gem could see was Dalton - away to grab some grub, his eyes boring into Max's head, his eyes terrified of her turning around and daring her to at the same time.   
  
A baby's cry swam around the raindrops and pierced her ear, maternal instinct telling her it belonged to her daughter, undoubtedly on her own quest for a little bit love and attention - not to mention food. Bidding a quick good-bye to the very pensive Max, she rescued the baby from Joshua's furry arms, both parties looking relieved at Gem's timely rescue.   
  
Deep in thought, Max turned on her heel then, unwittingly - and blindly - stalking in Alec's direction. She brushed right by his stiff body, and he made every attempt to ignore the sweet aroma of her hair. Irked at his own emotional and weak reaction, he strode after Dalton. The greasy, stomach-churning smell of leftover rations was a welcome relief from her wet lilac scent.   
  
*****  
  
Max grew tired of pacing outside Ray's room and wilted into a nearby chair. Judging by the upholstery and reclining footrest, she drowsily guessed it had been a Lazy Boy in its prime. It had been one of Luke's finds, having rescued it from the termites and other varmints in their alleys. It was a running joke that the streets of T.C. were some kind of twisted Flea Market, chockfull of hidden treasures if transgenics would just take a look for the respectable surfaces miles below the layers of soot and rat piss. Max leaned against the slightly decayed headrest and closed her eyes. Luke had done a very nice job cleaning the recliner up, and she made a mental note to repay the man for giving her a decent chair to rest in for the night.   
  
Against her closed lids the lightening swam again almost behind the thunder that made the hallway tremble in fear. The storm was right on top of them, beating against the shards of broken windows and flooding the streets as if it too had some sort of secret agenda to wipe out the transgenic haunt. Max smirked and shrugged to herself, not surprised if the weather did harbor some hostility. Everyone else did. The next bass drum of thunder echoed through Max's heart, causing her eyelids to snap open in surprise and slight fear. The dark lines of the hallway intermittently lit by the lightening created an eerie Manticore/The Shining aura she really didn't care for. She rose from the recliner quickly and crossed to the window on the other wall. Max glanced through the window - only a formality, it was more like over the broken glass - and out into the rain, which cut across the broken shards and quickly soaked the top half of her body. As deafening as the storm was on her sensitive ears, visibility was only slightly better - with or without dilated pupils. It was like Hell decide to personally showcase their overwhelming drumline and lightshow for Terminal City.  
  
And Ray didn't like storms. Max glanced fitfully back to his door, straining her ears in between thunder spurts to catch any whimpers leaking under the crack of his doorway. She chided herself for worrying, knowing Doc was in there right now taking care of the unconscious boy. The Doc had sedated Ray to help him heal physically while not letting his tiny sanity slip during the storm. But still, even knowing Ray was well attended and out cold didn't allay all of her fears. The fear of him waking up and being greeted by the storm and her useless to hold him and calm him wore on her nerves. She repeated her mantra to herself, "Ray is all right. Ray is all right..."   
  
After the fifty or sixtieth time she began to believe it, also coming back to some more important issues that needed to be brought to her attention. Like the fact that she was soaked, for example. Glancing down at her feet, bare and in danger of becoming flooded by her drippings, she scowled at her own stupidity. Wading across her newly developed pond, she sat down on the floor - choosing not to spoil Luke's masterpiece any further. The wind began to whip down the dark corridor. Max shivered but was too afraid to leave Ray's side - so to speak - not to mention too tired to go and change or even grab something for her to cover herself with. Admitting defeat to her weariness, she wrapped her arms around her legs for warmth and let her head loll forward to her knees. Within moments - despite a thundering storm - Max was dead to the world.   
  
*****   
  
It was common knowledge that the Doc was a night owl. Unable to sleep - like most the residents of T.C. on a stormy night like this -, a transgenic stole down a passageway of their makeshift medical center, instinctively knowing he'd find the Doc in the Familiar's room. He came across the landmark - Luke's recliner - outside of Ray's room, and reached for the doorknob. A pause came over him suddenly, and he glanced back towards the chair.   
  
There.  
  
On the floor a transgenic curled into itself for some much needed body warmth. Curious that it would find sanctuary right in front of the broken window letting the storm splash in, he crouched down and touched its shoulder. Deep, even breathing and tiny snores told him that it - she, by the length of her hair - was fast asleep. He brushed the hair off the side of her angled face and froze momentarily upon recognition before tucking the strands safely behind her ear. The transgenic crouched on the floor several minutes debating what to do - or not to do. Giving himself up for lost, he slowly removed the jacket from his shoulders and delicately placed it around hers. She mumbled as he pulled her forward so the jacket would cover her back, and he fought a small smile with every fiber of his being, keeping his face decidedly blank.  
  
Standing silently, he slipped into Ray's room.  
  
*****  
  
Max woke to a very tiny, very persistent hand shaking her shoulder. "Aunt Max, come on wake up. I'm hungry. I need to eat." The blonde boy turned his face away as Max cracked open one sleep-encrusted lid. When he turned back, it closed again. "Please wake up," he whined. He beseeched some help. "Doc, she won't wake up," he said, even whinier this time.  
  
"That's too bad," the Doc replied, strolling out of Ray's room and tucking a pen into his shirt pocket. "She'd be so glad to hear you're back to one hundred percent." Doc smiled gently down at the impatient boy. "Try again."  
  
With a small huff, he gripped her shoulder with both hands, rapidly becoming desperate. "Aunt Max," he sang. "Pleaaaaaaassseee..." Then several things happened in order.  
  
Max's eyes snapped open.  
  
Ray's hands flew over his head in surprise.  
  
Seeing an opening, she jumped for the attack.  
  
Max and Ray fell to the ground in giggles, followed by Doc's own chuckle.  
  
"Well, I see everything is back to normal with you two and all is right with the world," the Doc said, daintily stepping over the dog - er, catpile - on the floor. Both participants in the heap straightened themselves and said in unison, "Thanks, Doc!" He beamed a bright smile and shrugged his hairy shoulders as if to say, "It was nothing."  
  
Max turned back to her blond companion, feeling the world lift off her shoulders with him in her arms again. "Hungry?"  
  
"Aunt Max, I'm always hungry."  
  
Max laughed, and the two set off in hot pursuit of food. The Doc smiled at their departing backs. Quite the pair they made. Turning back to his work, an article on the ground caught his attention. He stooped down to pick it up, curious.   
  
*****  
  
  
  
"Hey Alec."  
  
"Hey Josh." Alec turned around from the stubborn generator he was helping Dalton and Mole with, wiping his hands with a well-worn towel. He looked like the average grease monkey - worse in fact - smeared from head to toe. "Where did all the grease come from?" Joshua asked innocently. Dalton had the decency to look embarrassed. Alec shrugged good-naturedly. "Nowhere in particular. Dalton was just trying to expand his horizons to the more artistic side and decided to use me as his first canvas." He turned to the red-cheeked boy and smiled, his eyes sparkling with good humor and understanding. "I was quite honored."  
  
Joshua nodded in comprehension, noticing the hero worship the other X held for Alec. "Dalton dumped a big bucket."  
  
Alec nodded to his friend. "Huge would be a better word."  
  
Joshua suddenly came to his better senses remembering why he had sought Alec out. "Here, Doc found your jacket in the hallway."  
  
Alec's smile dropped its good humor, becoming both mocking and cold. His eyes were lifeless and Manticorian, like the way Joshua used to see them when he first started talking about Rachel. He looked as if he just swallowed a cruel memory. The X5 recovered quickly though. "Uh, thanks Josh, just put it over on the chair. My hands are all tied up."  
  
And he meant it. Both ways.  
  
*****  
  
A/N: I know it's awkward still, especially with the contrast between Alec's attitude before and now. But seriously, would Alec forgive and forget that quickly? ("No" would probably be the most correct answer.) But at the same time, I want to show that he still has a soft spot - for lack of better term - for Max. He loves her for crying out loud! 


	6. Date with the Devil?

Disclaimer: They ain't mine.   
  
A/N: Thank you so much for your supportive reviews. They really have worked wonders!...at least for my outlook on life. ; )  
  
A/N: This chapter - for the most part - is not my own. It completely wrote itself, and I hereby wash my hands of any damage it may do to your psyches and/or your I.Q.'s.   
  
Chapter Six  
  
The alleyway leading up to the grand entryway of Crash's beaten-in door seemed to age a hundred years since he'd last stepped inside several months ago - he'd made it a point to avoid the place after Original Cindy's death, but tonight was an exception. New bullet holes blended so well with the older ones against the surface, as if even the newer bullets had always belonged imbedded in the metal. The only betrayal was that the newer bullet holes had a slightly sharper edge that glinted something fierce in the scattered rays of light trying to pierce the enveloping darkness from the streetlights on either edge of the alley.   
  
Thinking of bullets only made the naturally nervous man gulp down air thickly. Strange things had been crawling around Seattle since the coming out of the secret project Manticore, almost all dealing with bullets and their counterpart named blood. But even stranger than the identified freaks - the mermaids and mermen, half-dog half-man anomalies, X-series, etc. - were the unnamed shadows that stole their way across the city in broad daylight as well as in the dark of night. Call him paranoid and the victim of too many disaster movies, but like the rest of Seattle, he couldn't shake the feeling that apocalyptic events were building.  
  
Nor the one that he was being followed.   
  
Swallowing the feeling, the young man glanced across the alley nervously. He didn't see anything but didn't particularly expect to either. The many broken boxes and rusted over trashcans were optimum places for any amateur hoodlum to hide but also supplied Crash with that trashy, homey feel - a silent snub to the more sophisticated bars across town, where Merlot tabs ran like Crash's Budweiser. He smiled slightly and opened the door, working his way through the crowd.  
  
Crash was in full swing tonight. The music blared from waning speakers, combating for dominance with the big-screen T.V. loudly announcing the results from a skateboarding competition. Cigarette smoke clouds that could put L.A. smog to shame hung over the entire establishment, as if waiting to rain down nicotine and formaldehyde. The young man pushed towards the bar through the mob, taking his time when barely brushing past some particularly fine - and full - feminine figures, although most were overly clothed and less than drunk enough for his tastes. Okay, so they were just plain out of his league. He'd come to grips with the limited selection of possible women long ago.  
  
A few feet in front of him a pixie-like blonde with orange streaks - he guessed they were originally intended to be red, but had mixed with the peroxide blonde - vacated her seat for a lean, mean latino who stood from the stool next to her. He slid into the now empty seat like an impatient stay at home mom would steal a last parking lot. The stool next to him was also filled almost instantly. The young man signaled for the bartender's attention. "Scotch!" he called over the crowd's chatter.  
  
"And I'll have the same thing as the little lady," a voice chimed in beside him. He swerved his stool to face his abuser, but only met with a familiar smile. "Max," he breathed. "Long time no see."  
  
"I could say the same for you, Sketch."  
  
"What are you doing here?" he asked. Max shrugged. Sketchy couldn't tell if it was more that she didn't know or that she didn't really want to explain. Judging by the skittish eyes constantly glancing guiltily over both of their shoulders, he'd guess it was the latter. After a long and meaningful pause, he decided to change tactics slightly. "How'd you get out from behind the fence? Last I heard the 'authorities are keeping the transgenic crisis on a short leash.' I hear now that they're really starting to crack down on the perimeters of good ol' Terminal City."  
  
Max shrugged again, scanning the crowd for the third time in as many minutes. "Snuck out. I figured if I could escape from a top-secret government facility twice I could probably also dodge the beer bellied Sector police."  
  
"Alec's not going to be too happy with you."  
  
"Screw Alec, he's not the boss of me. He can charm the entire of population of Terminal City to be at his beck and friggin' call, but I am my own person. If losing multiple friends and family members - not to mention Manticore's re-programming - hasn't broken me yet, I flatly refuse to let Alec have the honor." Finishing her small rant, she glanced at Sketchy's amused face. "What are you smiling about?" she asked darkly. He tried to wipe the smirk off his face, but it was no use. This whole situation was too ironic, and he told her so.  
  
"Ironic how?"  
  
"I had this exact conversation with Alec a couple hundred times before the whole showdown at Jam Pony - except without admitting that there was a project Manticore. He just mentioned that if his 'former life' didn't break him, you wouldn't 'get the pleasure either.' And charming - according to him - wasn't your problem. I think it was the 'manhandling.' Yet he was always glancing over his shoulder to make sure you weren't there to hear him." Max slipped into a pensive silence before checking over her shoulder to make sure his ears were dropping in.   
  
They both received their drinks at that moment and Sketchy, being the diamond-in-the-rough-gentleman type, opted to also cover Max's drink as well as his own. "So," she began after another uncomfortable and untimely pause. "How are you holding up? I mean with, uh, O.C. gone and all."   
  
Sketchy didn't hesitate to reply. "It's been hell. Despite our differences in taste - or perhaps our similarities - I really loved her. Even Normal seemed to slide into a mourning period, well, as much as his could anyway." He smiled at Max rather sadly, a wistful look swirling in his eyes. "It's been a rough year or so, I mean, I lose Herbal, then you and Alec, and then O.C."  
  
"You haven't lost me and Alec," Max protested, an oddly sympathetic feeling causing her to cover Sketchy's hand with her own, letting their fingers entwine loosely.   
  
"Well, obviously I've got you back. And Alec," he glanced up quickly before letting his gaze fall back to Max, both pitying and slightly petrified. "Is here."  
  
Before Max had even been given decent time to arm herself mentally, she felt Alec slide with a deadly silence into the now empty stool behind her. "Sweet Blue Lady, be with us in the hour of our deaths." She mumbled so softly even the X5 behind her wouldn't be able to decipher her prayer, her suddenly dry lips barely moving around the words. She turned her creaking stool from Sketchy to face front of the bar, masking any nervousness with her usual "piss off" glower. Her languid posture veiling the tension that pulled every fiber of her being, Max looked for the world like a completely relaxed woman sitting at the bar with two friends. No one passing by the bar, or Sketchy for that matter, could see how trapped she felt. Only Alec, looking for a kink in her seemingly shatterproof armor, saw the tell-tale tiny bounces of her leg. And his eyes just couldn't skip over the fact that Max and Sketchy were - holding hands?  
  
"Sketchy."  
  
"Alec."  
  
"What are you two having?" he asked. Max watched his fingers point out her scotch, over the bottom of her eyelids. Long and deft and entirely too masculine and lethal, they slowly caressed the side of her short glass, at once almost possessive and detached. His fingers engulfed the glass and tipped it towards himself, peering inside; but all Max could see were those same fingers wrapped around her throat.   
  
"Scotch," she heard Sketchy's voice echo from the distance, like she was drugged by her own fear. He kept prattling on stupidly, but Max didn't want to stop him. She wanted him to keep talking forever, or at least until she could find a way to get gone. Alec's voice rang in, only it was infinitely more clear, "I'll have the same."  
  
Max still kept her eyes front, not willing to look at either of her companions. Alec sucked down his drink and still she was silent. He wasn't looking at her, Max could feel it. Somehow that was considerably more frightening than having his glowers weighing down on her. He was toying with her, and damn her fragile nerves, it was working. She was cornered, so she did what she would do in any other similar situation. Slowly, discreetly, she unwound her hand from Sketchy's.  
  
Then she bolted.  
  
After leapfrogging over the beer-slick bar, she raced to the back door. Out into the empty alleyway, she ceased to hide her transgenic abilities and blurred through the darkness, her skilled silence only broken by the whisper of winds racing through her hair and the occasional splash of scattered water drops falling back into their puddles. Adrenaline coated her veins, seemingly replacing her blood and pushing her faster. The sound of a gunning engine echoed against the buildings lining the alley, growing louder. And closer.   
  
A sheer terror fell across Max. She'd created the monster, she'd already admitted to that. But Alec had found some force - compassion? humanity? - that masked him. Now Max was afraid she'd pushed his buttons one too many times, and like Christine ripping the mask off of the Phantom, she'd fully unleashed a few demons. A Pandora's box that had been cracked ajar flew open under the boiling pressure. Alec would find her, that was for certain. And at the same time it was terrifying, an inborn sense of release flooded her, making her giddy and almost exultant in her sprint.   
  
Maybe she'd gone crazy like Ben.   
  
Lost in her own fears and thoughts, a motorcyclist whipped her off the street and into his lap without a struggle. Slipping a needle from his pocket, he injected her forearm. Her head fell limply across his chest, exposing her barcode. Max was unconscious before she could even identify her assailant.  
  
*****  
  
The gunning motorcycle engine purred to a stop outside the No Tell Motel. Alec slid his sunglasses - although not needed for UV protection at 11:00 at night, it did obscure his eyes from a witness' view - down the bridge of his nose, taking in the sight of the dinky - and kinky for that matter - hovel. It was every pimps' own slice of paradise. "More like No Tell Hoe-Tell," he whispered sarcastically. It was two strong winds from collapsing, clinging its pale pink walls together out of stubbornness, but it would have to do.   
  
The forewarning squeal of sirens gathered in the usual sounds of the night. It was a usual sound in and of itself, only it was drawing closer. Probably looking for a couple of wayward transgenics trying to have a night out on the town: them.  
  
He scoffed in self-derision, glaring down at his unconscious companion in his arms who he felt - and in all fairness, probably was - responsible for this entire mess. "Never mind, we'll try somewhere else." The engine roared back to life, and the night rider ducked his bike behind a corner right when the police pulled into the motel's parking lot. Seeing he was not to be followed, Alec pasted a cocky smile across his face, slowing down to a less suspicious speed.   
  
"Rent-a-cops, gotta love 'em."  
  
Several miles and a few checkpoints later - "drunk girlfriend" seemed to be the password of the night, and Alec threw the excuse at any curious Sector cop that would glance their way - he pulled up in front of another building. The warehouse seemed like every other stereotypical warehouse in Post-Pulse America: way beyond its prime, thoroughly ransacked, and above all, empty.  
  
He shifted Max to a better position in his lap. Glancing down at her drugged form, he asked, "Have you noticed that everyone one of our dates have either taken place in a sewer or a warehouse? The powers that be need to be just a bit more creative when throwing our rendezvous points together. I'll have to speak to them about that at the next soiree. I hear Elvis will be there." He stared down at the still unconscious Max thoughtfully. He continued on in a soft voice, almost tauntingly. "You know, I honestly think you have a better sense of humor when you're sound asleep." She wriggled slightly in response, reminding Alec that the drugs - although nearly lethal for most ordinaries - were not going to keep her quiet forever. "Unfortunately."  
  
He stepped off of the bike, hauling Max with him none to gently into the warehouse. Letting his irritation get the better of him, he dropped her with a heavy thud onto a nearby stack of crates, which loudly protested the addition of even her light weight. "Stop whining, I'll be back to pick her up eventually."   
  
Circling the perimeter to make sure all was secure - both the building's structure and number of inhabitants, or lack thereof - he came across a generator. He flicked it on, just to see how much juice was left. It was pleasant surprise that it lit only one room in the middle of the warehouse, too far away from any window eager to leak light into the street and lead the police back to them. He stalked to where Max's unconscious body still lay. Throwing her over one shoulder and the miscellaneous supplies he'd managed to recover on his little stroll over the other, he crossed to the lighted room, using her butt to smack the door open, she seemed to groan softly in response. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling anything but. "A guy's got to do what a guy's got to do. And you are in sore need of some discipline that I doubt Log-boy would ever give you."  
  
This time, a bit more gently, he laid Max down on cement floor. Her hair spread across the ground, circling lightly down her back in the shape of an angel's wing. He turned his head slightly, to see the array from a different angle. "Or a dragon's wing," he said, trying to shake himself out of wherever his mind had slipped off to.   
  
He strolled around the room, doing his best to slowly draw his attention away from the sleeping beauty and/or beast and more to the task at hand.   
  
Major Problem No. 1: That little stunt Max pulled drew the attention of the police, alerting everyone and their grandmother to another transgenic sighting. Both transgenics were too recognizable, thanks to the nightly news which made them household...barcodes. They had to stay low.  
  
  
  
Major Problem No. 2: Their "spotting" would lead to cracking down on the perimeters of Terminal City which would make it incredibly difficult to break back in. Plus the factor that he and Max would inevitably be arguing when they tried to break back into T.C., which added a whole new degree of difficulty.   
  
The more Alec thought, the more problems and possible harms came to mind which led him to Major Problem No. 3 - although now that he thought of it, was probably more in the "No. 1" category : Max, pretty self-explanatory.  
  
Last, but certainly not least. Major Problem No. 4: Him. Her. Alone in a warehouse for up to several days while waiting out the sector police and possibly even White.   
  
He scoffed at the ceiling, "You have some major explaining to do." The only bright side was that there seemed to be plenty of non-perishable food and water.   
  
And he had an advantage over Max: handcuffs. He pulled out a moth-eaten but still operative cot he'd found wedged behind a door, slapped it down against cement floor, and with a slightly sadistic grin, he gently laid Max down on the cot before promptly handcuffing her to the drain of a nearby rusting sink. The winds whistled through the warehouse, bringing a cool chill that caused Alec's instinctive shiver. Cursing his own tender weakness, he rifled through the room to find any decent covering to shield Max's body from the cold. Once content - as much as he could be in his irate state, with Max and himself - that she wouldn't feel any discomfort from the sudden chill, he found a more unseemly covering for himself.  
  
  
  
The lights fizzled as the generator went out.  
  
Alec's patience was really starting to wear thin. "Great," he murmured edgily in the dark, slumping against the wall. "Just great." The small drips falling from the sink were more hypnotic and peaceful than irritating, lulling him toward the land of dreams, where the Familiar threat didn't exist and certain brunette hard knocks were a bit more tender. As the night wore on and Max showed no signs of opening those resolve-melting eyes of hers, Alec shrugged himself into a corner of the room between a couple boxes, engulfed himself in his starchy blanket, and surrendered himself promptly to a deep sleep.  
  
*****  
  
Max's eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the looming dark and trying to work past the powerful drugs that had rendered her unconscious. Seeing her captor was Alec, who stood out even against the shadows of the room, flung her into a state of both fear and hope. Maybe she could somehow talk some sense into him.  
  
A small flash of light threw Max's night vision into a tizzy, taking her a second to readjust her eyesight. Alec whisked the match that had disrupted her perception gently over to a nearby candle, which resisted taking the flame at first, but then surrendered to his charm. In a few moments, the twenty or so candles he'd stumbled upon were lit; the wicks sported their bouncing little flames proudly, as if only too happy to please him, like everything and everyone else in this godforsaken city. Well, not her. She flatly refused to let her pigheadedness dwindle under his charm or his ire; but Max couldn't shake the nagging feeling that her stubbornness would make it just a tad more difficult to talk sense into him.  
  
Nor could she shake the almost romantic mood wafting through the atmosphere, watching the small dots of light emphasize the strong cheeks and chin - not to mention the effortlessly striking eyes - of his profile under her lowered lids. He'd always been a looker, but flooded in candlelight, it seemed to accent all his qualities, physically and in other...ways. Max shook her head lightly side to side to clear her drugged mind of any romantic notions. Candles always did that to her, softened her rough edges in the radiance of outdated romance. The small flicker of the flames seemed to be her emotional Achilles' heel, making her see things not as they were, but as they could have been - if fate had given her a more normal, emotionally open life with a man, instead of leaving her caged in fears of intimacy and commitment phobias.   
  
  
  
Max convinced herself that any sappiness and syrupy ideas in the air were purely a result of the candles, not because of Alec himself. Her uptight, droning former boss Normal could seem amorous given the right amount of candlelight - and mass quantities of alcohol.   
  
Snapshot memories of Logan and late night dinners and chess games flew unbidden to her mind, making her feel inexplicably depressed.  
  
Alec began to turn around, bringing her attention from the way the lighting slipped over his strong shoulders back to the heart of the matter. Max's eyes slammed shut, her face the perfect mask of one in the midst of pleasant dreams, hoping to stall Alec's unavoidable antagonism until she recovered more fully from the drugs and...other things. Her mask cracked slightly under a scowl, now that she realized she was handcuffed to a bar of some sort. She recovered quickly though, the frown only a small, split-second change in her otherwise picture perfect "slumber." Maybe he hadn't noticed.  
  
But he had, although that wasn't what gave her away. "I know you're awake Max," he calmly said, like chastising a four year old trying to stash the evidence of eating the last cookie when she had the chocolate chips smeared across her face. His voice managed to sound both lifeless yet inflexible. The man was a constant contradiction. "Your breathing became shallower as you regained consciousness. Not to mention that tiny frown that crossed your too serene face when you probably realized you were handcuffed to the sink."  
  
Max sat up in a flash, her mind swirling from the tranquilizer's hangover as the metal of the handcuff bit into her thin wrist, the other end clanking against the corroded pipe, still firmly attached.  
  
"What do you want from me?" she asked breathlessly, cursing her choice of words even as they fell from her mouth. They sounded too much like she was dealing with a complete enemy, a stranger, only reminding her of how little she knew about the man in front of her. He had been an unwelcome friend to her, yes, but she hadn't really known all that much about him. And like he had said, things weren't the same anymore. What little she had gathered under his cocky, devil-may-care cover may have been rendered obsolete in the months past. He'd grown so much, filling out his position of leadership so well, growing past her in so many ways.   
  
His eyes stared into hers, smooth as glass like a pond on an early spring morning, when the rising mists were a cloak over any activity. They read nothing besides a complete and utter void, purely Manticorian. This wasn't Alec handcuffing Max to a sink in the middle of God knows where. This was X5-494 securing a target: her. Before her mind could do away with the irrational thought, her ears pricked up, listening for the lonely sound of helicopter blades slicing the night air, greedy to take her back to the hellhole she'd known as home for almost a decade. She instinctively dipped her head slightly in proper reprimand position, awaiting her rebuke from a superior officer. Catching her reactions made her jaw clench in mortification and annoyance, her hackles rose at giving Alec the power in such a spineless way. She refused to surrender so easily.   
  
Her head snapped up, the twin fires in her brown eyes locked with the burnt ashes in his hazel, freezing him to the spot. The longer the moment held the more charged it became, the inferno of her rekindling some of the flames in himself. The charred remains blew away from his eyes, a fire relit within his irises as life seemed to seep back into him. Max watched with no little relief as X5-494 rediscovered a more Alec-like state, someone she was much better at coping with.   
  
"So, what do you want?" Max asked again, but slipped in a less wary, more friendly tone.   
  
Alec shifted his weight that had been leaning against a metal cabinet, slowly crossing the floor toward her bearing two candles, growing more immense with every step as his presence filled her air space. He was successfully stealing all of her precious oxygen, each breath becoming more ragged as she painfully gulped down the remaining air into her starving lungs. The reaction astounded her. Well-trained to hold her breath for four-plus minutes, laid to waste by a wisecrack in a leather jacket.   
  
Very slowly, his arms reached for the sink behind her head, each candle-laden hand almost brushing her face. Max shivered.   
  
After arranging the candles where he wanted them on the basin - mostly where the mildew and other build-up wouldn't cause them to tip over - he stepped back, sliding onto a crate with all the grace of a king taking his throne. He leaned forward slightly, elbows on knees, fingers making a steeple under his bristly chin. He seemed to consider her question, bouncing ideas around in his head, his forehead wrinkling in "deep thought."   
  
The emotional roller coaster she was riding on was exhausting. One minute she felt calm, the next ashamed, and then angered. 'Alec's personality always brought out the best in me,' she thought sarcastically. 'The bastard's always pushing my buttons.' Yet for once her emotions seemed to be on their usual track: impatient with the silence. "What's with the handcuffs?" she demanded, clanking the chain imprisoning her hand awkwardly behind her back for good measure.  
  
"You were in enough trouble when I found you the first time. Do you honestly think you're in less trouble now that I had to chase you across town? Or the fact that you're little high-jump over the bar and blurring that has brought down yet another media circus, making it damn near impossible to get back into Terminal City. Did that make all of your twisted little problems disappear?" His tone, although far from flat and uncaring, remained dangerously soft. Like a jungle cat's foot steps circling his prey before he pounced. "So the way I figured it, if having me around made you bolt in the first place, then having me pissed would make you run all the harder."  
  
Call it stubbornness. Call it staying power. Call it flat out stupidity, but Max refused to be moved. His complete relaxed control fueled her anger, making her want to break him of that calm exterior that she could tell he was far from feeling.   
  
"Now, what is it I want?" Alec asked conversationally. "How about an apology?" Hazel eyes swerved accusingly at her, making her feel anything but apologetic. Putting his hands on his knees, he stood and began to pace back and forth across the room, his tightly leashed fury causing the candles to flicker in alarm. "How about an apology for treating me like I don't deserve your high and oh-so-mighty presence for a year and then the minute I am ready to take a stand for my kind, you ride off on your high horse, hidden behind that red, white, and blue flag Logan carries like his own personal Holy Grail. How about an apology for being a manipulative, whiny..."  
  
Alec ranted on and on, losing more and more of his control with every remark he directed towards her. His pacing picked up, both his feet on the floor and his insults. Max had braced herself for such an attack for the past months.  
  
Or at least she thought she had.  
  
Now facing the reality of his tirade, instead of playing the apologetic mildness she'd so painstakingly practiced, she began feeling more like unremorseful violence. Surprisingly enough the insults didn't take too well to her transgenic pride. Dressing down was one thing, verbal abuse - although she could give it, she didn't take to kindly to receiving it - was quite another.  
  
Her pride erupted. "Screw you, Alec!" The shrill cry rang across the building, echoing over fractured windows and unsettled dust mites. The three words were simple but yelled with such hate and rage it made her throat go hoarse.   
  
Alec stopped mid-word, mid-stride, turning to face her. His face a mask of passion, angry and impatient to be let loose. Grabbing her by the shoulders, her body wobbled back and forth as he knelt in front of her. His knees crashed violently against the cement floor as her jerked her body forward, his nose scant inches from hers.  
  
"No Max," the words came out softly, a bare whisper. "Screw." His lips inched towards hers, like two magnets entering the force field when torn between clinging as one and bursting apart. "You."  
  
In the distance the force field snapped, magnets locking with an audible clang.   
  
Alec kissed her.  
  
His lips attacked hers, daring her to break away. Max's eyes widened to the size of flying saucers at the forced-entrance, her one free hand pushing against his chest since her legs were uselessly trapped between the cot and his body. Alec remained undeterred, one hand brushing her face selfishly as if soaking into her skin, the other pulling her body towards him via the small of her back. Max squealed in protest, but as she felt his lips nibbling on hers, the brown eyes slowly closed and her lips reciprocated his kisses. The frightened claws digging into his shirt in hopes of escaping transformed into fingers wrapping against the warmth of his neck. Her thumb tipped his jaw toward a better angle, her fingers playing along his pounding pulse until her pinkie slipped next his barcode. Alec's nostrils flared in response as his body shivered very slightly, the primitive part of Max pleased at eliciting such a vulnerable response from the self-contained X5.   
  
When Alec's lips moved across her jawbone, she tipped her head back to give him better access. Max bit her lip roughly to stifle a moan as he inched closer to her ear. "Alec," she sighed softly as he kissed her lower earlobe.   
  
A cold smirk spread against her skin. "Not quite," the suddenly dry lips whispered conspiratorially in her ear, the voice taking a sardonic, unfeeling pitch.   
  
Max recognized that voice...  
  
Her eyes snapped open, for real this time. She took in her surroundings instantly, knowing without a doubt who her real captor was. Max allowed herself a sardonic smile. She thought the dream was bad.  
  
The reality was much, much worse.  
  
Sensing his presence in the room, her eyes ran along the sterile tile floor, drifting from his dress shoe clad feet up his smoky gray two-piece suit to his cold, pale eyes.  
  
"Have a nice nap?"  
  
*****  
  
A pang of fear sunk its sharp teeth into his barcode.  
  
Alec awoke with a start as if sensing something had gone terribly wrong. For starters the blanket that he had wrapped himself with had also worked its way around his head. Swathed like a mummy, the wooden crates on either side formed his own personal sarcophagus. He tore at the blanket angrily, not realizing his sudden nemesis had been the one thing that had saved his life. Alec emerged from the binding like a baby escaping his mother's womb - albeit more violently: head first, then shoulders, the rest slipping out easily from the widened hole.  
  
"Rebirth is always a pain," he spat, kicking the offending cloth away from him, knocking down several crates noisily in the process. He turned towards the cot, smart remark in hand...  
  
...but the wind got knocked out of him at the sight of the empty cot and the empty handcuffs that dangled mockingly from the pipe. Only the faintest scent of the cherries and motorcycle oil that had ingrained itself into her natural perfume remained in the air. She'd left at least two hours ago, although he'd only been out - judging by his crusty watch - three hours. The sedative should have lasted at least another three and a half from when he settled her in the cot. Judging by Alec's mathematical skills, that gave him at least another thirty minutes of a perfectly unconscious Max, chained to that cot where she belonged.   
  
  
  
He ran a hand through his hair in irritation at his own incompetence, fingers tightening around the short locks and pulling at them relentlessly. This was the kind of screw up that got good soldiers put to sleep back at Manticore. He looked at the rain-rotted ceiling and chuckled hysterically, mixed with despair and ultimate frustration. How could one measly under qualified X5...? He glanced down at the cot again - still scoffing at his own defeat - when an unfamiliar object muddled up in the dirty blanket he'd found for her caught his eye.   
  
A necklace of some sort.   
  
Max didn't do jewelry.   
  
He lifted it between his fingers, marveling at its simplicity and weightlessness when the full weight of its implication crashed down on him, his knees weakening to the point where he leaned against the wall for support.   
  
He recovered in a flash - and not a moment to soon - and tore across the warehouse, sliding onto the stolen bike with speed that would do any commanding officer at Manticore proud. The engine roared to life, its panic howling ironically against the dead calm of the night. Alec whipped down the street, straight as Cupid's own arrow towards Terminal City.  
  
Swerving around a particularly severe corner at a fanatical speed, the leather band of the necklace slipped from his palm, dropping into a nearby puddle. Bouncing off the bottom of its polluted swimming pool, the focal point of the necklace rose ominously to the surface. A ghost's menacing hand arising from the grave.  
  
It bore a caduceus: the mark of Familiars.  
  
White had Max.  
  
*****  
  
A/N: Again, I honestly didn't write this. My muse just took me for a joyride and I'm still working out the details of where it's going to land. Feel free to review and tell me what think. (Yes the writing was incredibly melodramatic, but I was in a melodramatic mood. All I need now is the "Days of Our Lives" theme.) ; ) 


	7. Date with the Devil? Part 2

Disclaimer: Not mine. Even the ones that are I don't really bother to claim. I just noticed that. Oh well.  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
  
  
"Have a nice nap?" White asked.   
  
  
  
Max quickly assessed her current situation. Things didn't look good. Her hands were bound behind her back to the seat of a metal chair - reinforced steel to avoid the escape of certain transgenics no doubt - while her feet were cuffed uselessly to the legs, which were thoroughly adhered to the floor. She tried jostling slightly in her seat to test its strength without giving White the sadistic satisfaction of mistaking her experimenting for squirming. Damned thing didn't even vibrate.   
  
Peeking across the narrow hallway-like room, she saw two guards flanking the Familiar. They were as different as night and day, one blonde and beefy while the other was leaner and darker. Judging by their less fearful - but still respectful - stance around White, she guessed that the guards were also Familiars instead of NSA agents as she had hoped.   
  
Things really, really didn't look good.  
  
He strode across the tile floor with even, confident strides. With a floor so clean and sparkling it could make Manticore janitors bite their nails in envy plus her archenemy's almighty appearance, it almost gave the impression of a latter-day Jesus walking on water - if it wasn't for the knock-off Armani suit and the fact that White was an inbred anti-Christ.  
  
The even strides stopped in front of her. Now face to, well, stomach with the devil, Max could see why being talked down to by the person you were in direct confrontation with irritated Ray to no end. Thankfully though, instead of crouching down to her as if she was four years old, White pulled up a chair from thin air and sat down, crossing his legs in a masculine fashion. If it wasn't for the whole subtext of an impending torture session and Max being so tightly bound to her seat, it would look more like two friends meeting for a cup of java instead of a vampire ready to draw blood from a victim.   
  
Max plastered a look across her face that managed to be both incredibly sarcastic and dreamy. "Did I have a nice nap?" she repeated dumbly as if pondering the question. "You know, I was in the middle of this really awesome dream where peace existed across the world," she sighed, staring sickeningly off into space. "Gentlemen opened doors for their dates and young girls didn't have to have to sell their bodies to buy drugs."  
  
"What? Drugs suddenly dropped off the planet?" White asked dryly, for once trying on patience for size, knowing 452 was going no where and fast.  
  
"Heck no, you could get them for free." White smirked arrogantly and leaned back against his chair, waving two fingers as if to say "Continue."  
  
"Then I woke up and realized that I had obviously left my spray at home, because I was still attracting bugs," she finished pointedly, mustering up a confident glare at her enemy. Max glanced back toward the door, where Night and Day still stood with their eyes fixed firmly on their superior. "Hey," she called to them. "Either one of you keep a flyswatter in your jackets?" Both seemed surprised and slightly impressed by either her guts or stupidity - it was hard to tell.  
  
The tolerant act broke pretty quickly, transforming Dr. Jekyll into the Mr. Hyde Max had grown to know and loathe. The sarcastic smile became menacing, the fingers wrapped loosely around his knees tightened in irritation, gripping in a way that clearly stated they'd be much more at home around her throat. "Let's cut through the chitchat, shall we? General conversation didn't seem to be ingrained in either one of our childhoods. How about the heart of the matter?" His coldly handsome face twisted into a disturbing grimace as he rose menacingly from his chair, towering over his captor. Max broke eye contact first, feigning boredom. From his side pocket, White withdrew a tazer.   
  
"A tazer? Honestly Ames," Max purposefully tried to sound annoyingly friendly. "Doesn't the General Villain Coalition have more creative weapons? Or is it just customary of every major bad guy in the post-Pulse world to come off the line with a few thousand watts of electrical current stored in their pockets?" She glanced down to the front of his pants, fully knowing that - Familiar or not - every male suffered from the same insecurity. Continuing silkily, she said, "Trying to make up for something, Amy?"  
  
White cuffed Max fully across the face, the force of his hate causing her head to snap back violently. A sadistic smile slithered across his lips. Self-control was something White had always prided himself on, as if it made up for his innate impatience. But the transgenic filth in front of him always managed to push his buttons, so for a split second he let his - emotions? - run loose. It felt even better than he thought it would.  
  
Shaking her head away from the stars swirling in her vision, Max faced White boldly. Because doing so would only make her broken lip more irritated, she fought a smile. If she could just get him to lose his temper and kill her outright, things might never get back to the heart of the matter: Ray.   
  
But Max also knew her adversary would never let things get out of control, not for too long anyway. Either way, she quickly resigned herself to a slow and agonizing death. Assuming the motorcyclist that picked her up for this date was one of White's goons, Alec would still be scouring the city for her. He'd eventually give up, thinking she'd taken another "vacation." It wouldn't occur to him until days later that Max would never skip town without Ray. By then Max would be dead, if the fates were kind.   
  
There was no C.J. to unlock her handcuffs at that perfect last-possible-second-pre-Pulse-Hollywood-type moment. Alec wasn't going to sweep in like a knight in leather armor; he'd probably never even know she'd died.   
  
It was just her and White. All they needed was some tumbleweed and a few Western clichés and they'd have themselves a good old-fashioned showdown.  
  
Trained to be self-reliant to the last, Max found the situation hopeful, lucky even. At this point in time, White was convinced that only herself and ever-elusive Eyes Only were privy to the whereabouts of his son. Logan was safe, probably even better at covering his tracks than Max was with her own - she being so cocky and all. So if could Max find a way to die without spilling the beans, she could manage to die a happy person.   
  
Because Ray would be safe.   
  
Stalling seemed to be the best idea for the time being. If Max could get White to torture her beyond all hope of being sanity and coherence without having to worry about betraying the one she'd come to love as her own son, then he'd have no choice to kill her out of her sheer uselessness.   
  
And Ray would be safe.  
  
But she was going to die.   
  
A life flashed before her eyes, time slowing down and lingering over her stolen moments with her pseudo-nephew. A blond head rested against her breast, legs crossed over her lap, and fingers idly wrapped across her sides in sleep. The sweet perfume of his neck when he worked up a decent sweat. Tinkling laughter. A little boy's fingers. Instead of weakening, the memories and her love for Ray only strengthened her resolve to save him from the fear of living with his psychopathic father.  
  
Shockingly enough, the only thing that came even remotely close to weakening her resolve was White himself. Through another's eyes - a mother's eyes - Max stared at her enemy blatantly. The suit, although impeccably clean, was slightly wrinkled and showed signs of wear and tear. New wrinkles lined his mouth that read more as signs of sadness and worry and loss than a sign of anger. Bags weighed down on his eyes from physical and emotional exhaustion. The most striking were the eyes themselves though. Deeply hidden behind a hatred of transgenics, Max saw a trace of real emotion, the start of the fatherly love that drove White beyond even Familiar limitations. Underneath the hatred, the sense of loss was so poignant that it almost caused Max to falter very faintly in sympathy.   
  
But because Max knew what White would someday want his son to become, she hardened her heart. It was true, Ray bared a lot of resemblance to his father. The apple never fell too far from the tree. At the core of their beings though, where it really counted, they were like the guards at the door, different as night and day. White's evil force was a black hole, ready to suck out the brilliant light that was essential to Ray's very being.   
  
But Ray was young and impressionable, at the brink of two distinctive paths: clay shifting back and forth between Max and Ames' hands. Both Potters wanted to mold and construct a strong base in him; one using force and manipulation, the other utilizing the importance of spirit and vigor. Once Ray was thrown into the kiln's compressing flames, the form that they had thrown in - good or bad, for better or worse - would be permanent. The race was to see what kind of shape would go into the flames, and whether or not Ray's form would break.   
  
Her love for Ray and the desire to shield him overrode any and all of the survival instincts Manticore had spent a decade trying to ingrain in her. Maybe love and loyalty would be enough to keep her silent. Yet the gnawing fear of slipping-up under torture drove Max to do something she'd only done one other time in her life: pray for a loved one's safety, bartering for his life.  
  
"How'd you find me?" Max asked emotionlessly as she started to shut her awareness down, trying to prepare her body for the beating it was about to undergo.  
  
"494 was followed on a motorcycle to an abandoned warehouse, carrying you. After giving you enough time to get cozy, a team infiltrated the perimeter and dragged your unconscious body out, 494 had obviously left you there. He was no where to be found, not that we did a real in depth check or anything," White said emotionlessly, circling around Max like a vulture around road kill. Inwardly, Max breathed a huge sigh of relief, dying was bad enough without knowing you were responsible for leaving the transgenic leader's corpse in your wake. Alec was safe too. "You were the only one that mattered, your 'summer fling', as he called himself, would have been killed on sight. He is no use to me. Now it's my turn to ask the questions.   
  
"First and foremost," he stopped his circling directly in front of her. Yanking her swelling chin to his face - either to intimidate her with his evil stare or the tazer laying almost passively across his shoulder - White asked slowly and succinctly, "Where did you and that red, white, and blue freak stash my son?"  
  
"Oh, he's back in Terminal City," Max replied with her usual wise guy tone, knowing the truth was far stranger than any lie she could come up with, save flying saucer's - although it wouldn't be too surprising to find that White had relations on far away planets. "Yeah, he's probably painting with Joshua right now - that's the wonder dog that almost broke your back at that whole Jam Pony incident - or reading Shakespearian plays with Dix or..."  
  
Max never got to finish. Infuriated at her insolence, White began the electrical path to pain a little early. The tazer snapped and crackled with malevolent glee as it attacked her body with wave after wave of lightning agony.  
  
Max's last coherent thought before surrendering to the calm blackness beckoning her was "I love you." But instead of envisioning just one tiny blond cherubic form, she also saw a lean, anonymous figure watching sadly from the distance. But before she was even granted the chance to wonder who - and more importantly, why - the figure was, the darkness claimed her.  
  
*****  
  
"What do you think, Keith?" his portly partner asked, tipping his half done Marlboro towards the rusted gates separating themselves from the toxins and Manticorians that had made the brittle streets on the other side home. It was a still night, a bad omen slipping down his back causing his wide belly to shiver in anticipation. The Sector police, although supposedly cracking down on security surrounding the foxhole, were in all actuality thinly dispersed tonight. Food riots on the other side of town took precedence. Him and Keith were practically alone tonight; the nearest backup was several blocks down the border. He didn't like it at all; it made him even more nervous than usual.  
  
Keith - not exactly a tiny man himself, his seven-foot three-inch stature intimidating more than one would-be patriotic moron from bad-mouthing the transgenic population to the point of bloodshed - scanned the perimeter, his jade green eyes loitering over all possible entrances and exits of the freaks' refuge.   
  
  
  
According to the news reports, the transgenics were crafty by nature, not to mention DNA. The uncanny ability to hide in the shadow of a noon sun had been deeply rooted in them since birth, or so the rumors said. Keith held no small reverence for that ability, especially when he was on perimeter watch. Normally his finally tuned sixth sense twitched in his gut as if in silent alarm when their own guards' eyes fell upon him. Tonight though, he felt no twitching, it was as if the freak show had drawn into itself before busting out with their grand finale. Knowing his less poetic partner wouldn't appreciate the subtleties, he simply said, "It's quiet, Bruce. Too quiet."  
  
All in all, Keith considered himself a man fairly sympathetic to the transgenic plight. He'd never made an outright stand in their favor of course; it could cost him his job and he had a wife and a bustling baby boy to feed.  
  
Bruce puffed on his cigarette pensively before grinding it into the ground with the heel of his government-issued boot. As a man very prone to overreaction and worrying, he'd always joked that "Sector Policeman" wasn't exactly the ideal job for his already overworked heart. But it was a steady paycheck, not to mention any "tips" he "came across" in between. He peered out into the dark alleys through the plastic guard hinged to his helmet, supposedly to shield his face from any flying shrapnel. Being nervous as he was, all it did was provide the sauna effect, his cigarette-tainted breath making small billowing clouds of nicotine against his faceguard.   
  
Keith laughed at him. "I don't even know why you bother leaving the guard down, you nervous fool. All you're doing is killing yourself twice as quickly, first from the cigarette and then the second hand smoke filming..." He stopped mid-sentence, the angry roar of a motorcycle engine reverberating off the buildings of the alley. The rider - early twenties, male, Caucasian, lean, short dark hair, wearing a dark leather jacket and sunglasses - drew up within a few feet of the awestruck pair.   
  
Before Keith or Bruce could bat an eyelid, the mystery rider was off of his bike, two Chrome 45's adorning his hands - more like extensions of his body than accessories - and pointed straight at their heads. "Your guns," he said calmly. "Please drop them." Bruce looked to Keith for confirmation, who nodded. Two guns clanged against the ground. Their captor signaled to the tazers on their belts. "Those too." Tazers bounced off the cement. "Kick 'em over there," he said, nodding over his shoulder towards the buildings on the other side of the alley. Four metallic objects clanged against the far building. A smile flirted with the young man's face, making him infinitely more friendly, charming even. "Thank you, ladies." Keith felt himself smiling in response to the jibe.  
  
Turning on one foot, the young man hopped over the fence, obviously a transgenic. "What about your bike?" Keith couldn't help calling after the retreating form, much to the dismay of his partner. "Stolen!" the nameless figure quipped, running for the heart of Terminal City.  
  
"Cocky little bastard," Keith muttered to himself. For some reason, it only made him like the guy all the more.  
  
*****   
  
Alec blasted through the doors of the command center, knocking a very shocked Dalton flat on his back. Before the boy even worked up a decent grunt protesting the abuse of his derrière, Alec hauled him to his feet, absentmindedly straightening his jacket with a rushed apology. When he turned to find Mole and Dix's face among the sea of freaks milling about the room, he found instead several dozen pairs of eyes boring into him, betraying a hint of anticipation and fear. Seeing their leader who was normally on top of things so disorderly made the entire room hush, fearing the "things" had fallen out from underneath him, and something had gone terribly wrong.   
  
He waved his hands through the air carelessly in a shrug to say "whoops!" all the while praying no one would notice his trembling fingers. He had to find Max, quick. "Sorry folks, nothin' to see. Slipped on a banana peel. In punishment, every monkey-lookin' transgen has toilet duty for a week," he said, earning some chuckles. "Feel free to get back to work." Taking him on his word, the motley crew returned to their day-to-day tasks. Not even bothering to look, Alec's hand snapped behind him, deftly taking Dalton by the shoulder and discreetly whipping him around. "Except you," Alec said softly, finally letting his inner anxieties lace his voice. "I need your help."  
  
Sensing the urgency of the situation, Dalton nodded, ready to help his hero in anyway necessary. "Find Joshua, Dix, Mole, and Luke. You five meet me in the back room in two minutes, and be discreet," Alec ordered. Resisting the urge to salute, the teenager turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.  
  
The back room was Alec's informal office, not that he'd ever really considered it such, partly for fear that he'd slip into the nine-to-five mode which would be so unlike the prowling tomcat that he was. Overtime he'd come to leave his stuff in the back room, and the other transgenics for the most part respected his privacy. The room was a perfect balance of domesticity and authority, with a few of Alec's own decorative touches so it wouldn't fall into a pre-Pulse Martha Stewart or the opposing Donald Lydecker category. A hooded sweatshirt strung over a chair, a swimsuit calendar on the far wall: home sweet home. Some of Sandeman's books - late night entertainment to keep his mind off of things - were strewn haphazardly around the mahogany desk next to the focal point of Alec's attention at the moment: the telephone.  
  
He pushed the receiver next to his ear, carefully listening for the telltale beeps and undercurrent hums of a tapped line. He sighed in relief to hear it was clear, hastily dialing a number. "Logan, we have a problem. It's them pesky Familiars again." After hastily explaining the situation to the older man and Logan began a cross-sector search on any black op movements, Alec sat the phone back in its cradle bleakly. Things didn't look good. The sound of obvious attempts at throat clearing pulled his attention toward the door. Dalton and Company had gathered at the entryway, every one of them - even Mole - seeming cagey.  
  
The X5 jerked his head toward the door, which Dalton took as a sign to shut it. Alec began when he heard the doorknob click shut. "How long have you been standing there?"   
  
"Since about, 'Logan, we have a problem,'" Luke supplied, his enthusiastic voice edging on nervousness. Alec glanced over towards Dalton in praise at his swiftness, causing the younger boy to go red.   
  
"Little fella in trouble?" Joshua asked, crossing to where the X5 stood, his breath seesawing out in anxious pants.   
  
Alec nodded, placing his hand on the dogman's burly upper arm in sympathy. "White."  
  
"Joshua help," he growled, his lips curling back over a fierce set of teeth.   
  
"You all help," he responded in half-statement, half-question. Without even glancing at their compatriots for support, each nodded grimly. Mole nudged Dalton lightly in the shoulder with his rifle butt. "You sure you want him?" he asked. "He's just a kid."  
  
"He's also one of the most attentive and best trained stealth ops in his entire class," Alec replied casually, falling into the folding chair behind his desk. "He stays."  
  
Alec quickly filled them in on what had happened, beginning at Crash. For the next half-hour the group threw ideas back and forth on Max's possible whereabouts and how to retrieve her, anxiously awaiting a telephone call. When the phone did ring Alec slammed it to his ear before it even finished its first buzz. "What do you have?" he asked, putting him on speakerphone, knowing the boys - particularly Mole and Joshua - would want to hear it firsthand.  
  
"Possible lead," Logan replied, the distinct clatter of a tapping keyboard in the background. "Multiple actually. The same caravan has moved a couple of times. Good old fashioned black humvees, four or five. Probably a Christmas gift to White from the NSA. One of my sources has confirmed White's appearance with the convoy while passing into Sector 7."  
  
"Max?"  
  
"Another source said he did see the form of a brunette in her late teens/early twenties. The guy mostly saw her from behind, no skin tone or facial features available, but judging from the rest of the description..."  
  
"Was she alive?" Mole chimed in, ever the optimist. Both Joshua and Alec shot him a dark look. The lizard-man mouthed an apology, shrugging his broad shoulders in defeat.  
  
"Whatever she was, she wasn't conscious," Logan said solemnly, almost feeling the six individual winces on the other end of the line. "They're on the outskirts of town, holed up in some old mansion, supposedly haunted or something."  
  
"Security?" Alec asked, doing his best to keep the worry from his voice.   
  
"From the looks of it, pretty low key." Logan paused. "I think it's a trap, Alec."  
  
"Of course it's a trap, Logan," Alec said dryly. "Every major player always sets a trap. Although I must admit, it's getting to be a bit self-defeating when everyone realizes there's always a trap..."  
  
"That's not what I meant, Alec," replied Logan tersely. "I think it's a trap...for you."  
  
Alec's brow pursed in confusion. "Why me?"  
  
"You ascended to power very quickly the moment Max went on the lam. Then you dropped off of the charts the same couple of weeks Eyes Only did before Max came back to town. Maybe White figures if both you and I brought Max back to town then..."  
  
"Maybe I also know Ray's location," Alec finished gravely.   
  
There was a pregnant pause on both ends of the line, the full weight sinking into both parties. Logan began again slowly, "If you would trek across country to bring her back once, he knows for sure you'd go across town to fetch her back again. If Max proves useless, he'd have you. It's a trap."  
  
"He's a smart man," the X5 lazily replied, feigning the relaxation he was anywhere but feeling.   
  
The older man also knew the transgenic's tenacity and - come fire and brimstone - he'd go after her either way. Logan filled him in on the rest of the details - complete security rundown, general layout, and of course location - before filling the X5 in on his worst fear. "Alec?"  
  
"Yeah, Logan."  
  
Logan typed madly on the keyboard in front of him as if using it to block a horrific thought trying its hardest to come to mind. "Max loves Ray very much, both you and I know that. She would die - will die - before ever letting White have his hands on him again."  
  
Alec closed his eyes, resting his head against his palms and blocking out the world. He let his humanity fall from him in crumbling bricks, building a new wall of discipline and duty to shield him. This was a very precarious dilemma and any ounce of humanity, any room he left for fear, would bring about his worst fears. Under strict control of his emotions, he stood from the chair and leaned close to the speaker. "Then I guess we'd better hurry," he said softly, gently pressing the "off" button before turning to face his unit.   
  
He motioned to the duo in the corner. "Dix, you run the communications links. Luke, you'll help him, but first quietly round up every decent firearm that can pack a killer punch and some radios. Heavy emphasis on the 'quietly.' Go, now." Both transgens barely resisted the urge to salute in the face of such stern authority, ducking out the door swiftly.  
  
Alec turned to the three left in the dark room. "Joshua. Mole. Dalton." He addressed each soldier by name, looking as meaningfully into each pair of eyes as he could in his near Manticorian state. "While we may not be the easiest foursome to sneak out of this godforsaken place, you are probably also the only three I could trust with some risky business. I'll be upfront with you guys: this is a pretty suicidal mission. Logan's informants say we're looking at maybe a dozen guards tops. But given that we are working with White and the trusty calling card he left us, we can probably guess that the little security we're looking at are all of White's nearest and dearest: Familiars, plus whatever extra "brothers" of his that start magically appearing out of God knows where. We are working with at least a couple dozen Familiars against four of us. The odds aren't exactly in our favor. And for the most part, Max isn't exactly the character we'd like to risk our necks for. This is strictly on voluntary basis. If you don't wish to come along, don't. No one will look down on you."  
  
No one moved or spoke as the air seemed to hum with anticipation of their reply. Mole and Joshua glanced at each other before turning their eyes to Dalton. All eyes mirrored the same thing, a die-hard resolve. They turned back to their leader, their response written plainly on their faces.  
  
Alec clapped his hands together, a grim smile peeking at the corners of his otherwise solemn mouth. "Alright then, we move out."   
  
*****  
  
Leonard Fredrickson moved down the hallway with slow steps, purposefully ignoring the portraits' unblinking stares following him across the floor. He stifled a shiver as another wave of guilty superstition splashed across him. He was born and bred Familiar, weaned on hate for the weak and the motto "no pain is more gain." The descendant of a notable cult, his ancient bloodline of brute force and dominance should also rule over such childish superstitions as haunted houses. But even as he cursed himself for such frailty, he felt the distinctive sensation as a pair of eyes boring into his back. Fredrickson turned around as slowly as possible so he wouldn't shame himself if there was in fact one of his brother Familiars trailing him down the incredibly eerie hallway. As he expected, there was nothing save both the darkness his eyes had grown accustomed to and the venerable mug shots glaring disdainfully down at him.   
  
Sighing in relief, he wheeled around again, nearly tripping over someone. Fredrickson grasped the upper arms of his shadow while it took him by the shoulders firmly. "Still afraid of ghosts, I see," the voice rasped, friendly but not quite pleasant.   
  
"Brother White," Fredrickson gasped, straightening himself. "Here I was worried I had tripped over a phantom of some sort, but I see I've only found the Devil." He heard his kin's chuckle, a few shades darker than the night surrounding them. Fredrickson had been only half-joking. Ames White had always been an enigma - even to the cult that schooled him - and a man of ruthless ambition. But lately even the Conclave had seen him slip further and further from their realm and more towards the shadows of a man possessed. Normally having another person with him in a haunting hallway would let Leonard breathe a little easier, but this man's menacing presence seemed only to suffocate him further.  
  
Unaware of the other man's discomfort, Ames led his long-time acquaintance - he'd never been the kind to make friends - down the rest of the hallway, strolling into the last door on the right. He flipped the switch on the far wall and the lights flickered on over head. Fredrickson surmised he'd been led into a billiard room of some sort; a moth eaten pool table offset the maroon couches on the far side of the room, both covered in a visibly thick sheet of dust.   
  
Ames swiped a forgotten rag down the edge of the pool table, slumping into the now clean corner. He let his eyes sweep over his colleague. Leonard Johannes Fredrickson was more than fifteen years his senior, his approach towards the ripe age of fifty made evident by the strands of gray swirling around the temples of his black hair. He had a darker complexion than most Familiars' was, the black of his hair only matched by the pigment of his eyes. Despite the wrinkles slowly eating into his face, Fredrickson was still a handsome man. And a worthy opponent.   
  
The Conclave had sent him, Ames could feel it.  
  
In the silence Fredrickson had also been sizing up his associate, taking in the haggard but ever arrogant air, ready to screw over the authorities at any moment. The Conclave had never mastered Ames' rebellious streak, just like they'd never dominated his father - and Leonard's mentor - Sandeman. The frenetic dedication that had flooded Sandeman had also been inherited by his offspring like fuel pouring from one bucket to the next. All either needed was a match. Sandeman had found his - which led to complete blasphemy - and it was Fredrickson's job to make sure the prodigal son never lit his own. But judging by the red staining Ames White's hands and his own sleeves where the younger man had grabbed him several moments ago, the older man sensed he might have been a little too late.  
  
Fredrickson got right down to the point, knowing White's temper didn't appreciate having to beat around the bush with small talk. "You were to contact us anytime you had so much as a credible lead on her, much less the time - or in your case, many times - you got a hold of her. I had to hear of your catch through the proverbial grapevine." The younger associate was silent, crossing his arms across his chest in an immature sulk at the mention of his past errors. "Her blood, I assume?" he asked, pointing to the crimson smudges staining the white of his button-down shirt where his hands grasped his upper arms.  
  
White glanced down at his hands in something that could almost be misconstrued as surprise. Using the same rag as he had earlier, he meticulously wiped off the red gloves. "You assume correctly," he replied coldly, but no less hateful than his usual tone concerning "her."  
  
"Is she dead?"  
  
"Not yet. You can go back to the Conclave and tell them they can have 452 when I'm finished with her," White replied deliberately and with a heavy tinge of insolence, calculating the infamous Conclave's disposition through the temperament of their messenger.   
  
"By quoting such a statement back to them it will be justly read as you telling them to go straight to Hell." The older man understood White's defiance, but such impertinence, such brazen disrespect, was suicide.   
  
"You can tell them that as well for all I care."  
  
"Ames, this is madness," Fredrickson pleaded, slowly stepping toward the stranger before him. "Give 452 to them. It's all they want from you." White remained unmoved, calmly examining his nails against the inadequate light and scraping the blood out from underneath them. It was like trying to convince an oak tree to uproot itself and fall over, even in the face of a chainsaw or bulldozer. "It's your one true chance at becoming a hero, the only chance of ridding yourself fully of your past mistakes and your father's."  
  
Losing patience, the younger man stormed out of the room in angry strides. "It is also my only chance at finding my son!"  
  
Fredrickson stalked in the angry man's footsteps. They marched through an underground labyrinth of hidden tunnels, which - given the other man's rage reverberating off of the congesting walls and his superstitious nature - seemed to ring with the distinct hum of a very bad omen. The dusk and shadows were overpowering, making it impossible to follow White if it hadn't been for the pounding of his angry feet. Finally, after what seemed like hours on the dime tour of Hell itself, Ames made a sharp turn into room of some sort. Long and white and clean with the exception of a puddle of blood, the room bore one lone occupant, hidden from Fredrickson's view by White's broad shoulders. When White crossed the room towards her though, Leonard wished dearly that he hadn't.  
  
Even after nearly a lifetime of transgenic hatred, the sight before him nearly caused the older man to stumble in horror at the atrocity against life - human, Familiar, or transgenic. "My God," Fredrickson said, unwillingly taking in the scene. The proportions of White's obsession and hatred and blown apart further than anyone could have predicted. Despite Ames' assertion of the opposite, he wasn't even sure she was still alive until the other Familiar began screaming in her face for the location of his son, threatening her with the life of - 494?  
  
Ames White had become a monster of mythical proportions. Such damage done in so little time was absolutely mind-boggling.   
  
He looked again to the woman. She was broken in body, but obviously she hadn't broken in spirit. From deep inside the bottom of his heart, Fredrickson almost felt a small twinge of admiration, if it hadn't been completely overridden by the fear of White's rage, awesome to behold.   
  
The Conclave longed to have her alive, but they'd also accept her corpse. Moved by a small pang of pity, Leonard Fredrickson withdrew a small handgun from his pocket, aimed for the middle of 452's nearly comatose head, and fired.  
  
*****  
  
In the middle of Terminal City, Mole checked his signature piece of military hardware for any kinks that could prove fatal on the battlefield. The cigar seemed fine. Tucking it and a spare in his front pocket, he felt ready for battle. There was only one small hitch. "Uh, Alec?"  
  
"Yeah, Mole?" he asked, tucking two extra handguns and a rather large knife into his cargo pants. He ran a mental checklist, making sure he wasn't missing any major details. Everyone seemed suited up and ready for action. There had only been two bulletproof vests available, so they were given to Dalton - because he was the youngest and everyone felt a bit responsible for him - and Mole - because next to Alec, he was the most likely to shoot his mouth off or become otherwise reckless and need it. Mole had argued against it at first, but Alec exercised his authority. "What am I forgetting?" he asked himself, scratching the back of his head - it had always been a nervous habit of his, even back at Manticore.  
  
"How about a way out of here?" Mole supplied, waving around their homey cage. That little stunt Alec had pulled with those two sector cops had grabbed a lot more publicity, the border of Terminal City now decorated with red and blue flashes like Christmas lights wrapped around the fence. The foursome were too far inside the compound to be caught on camera at this point, but eventually they ran the risk of being caught breaking out.  
  
"Sewers? Joshua know way." Joshua said, eying his gun a tad bit warily. After attaching the silencer, he pointed it at a can across the alley, frowning when the gun refused to fire. Dalton reached up behind the dogboy and pulled the gun closer to his level. "Remember," the young blond advised, flicking a switch. "Safety off." Joshua let out a sheepish bark at his mistake, but felt redeemed for his inexperience when he knocked the soup can off it's perch on a crate with his second try.  
  
"It's a bit overdone," Mole said thoughtfully, caressing the cigars safely buried in his jacket pocket. "But you're sure you know a way?" he asked. Joshua glanced at Alec and nodded.   
  
"Then out the sewers is the way we go," the X5 said, turning toward the nearest manhole cover and ducking down into the shield of darkness.  
  
*****  
  
The plan was simple: get out of Terminal City, get to the estate, recover Max, and get back home. At least it was simple until one considered that the retrieving group had done almost no recon - save Logan's blueprints, dictated over the phone - and the supposedly lax security were in all likelihood White's personal brat pack.  
  
After sneaking through sewers and gutters for a few hours, the night clubs' alcohol intake skyrocketed, leaving several Seattle citizens too smashed to drive and several open cars for any random party of transgenics to pilfer without a hitch. They happened upon a turn-of-the-century Dodge minivan and the small band removed the backseats quietly. Mole and Joshua laid down in the back - the dogman quietly, Mole not so much - and hid themselves with a tattered quilt Dalton had found in the gutter.   
  
"This is suicide," Mole grumbled from under the blanket. Joshua grunted in response, although it was hard to tell if it was from agreement or if the lizardman's favorite shotgun had connected with his gut. Dalton rolled his eyes, thoroughly acquainted with Mole's typical outlook on life. The X5 behind the wheel glanced unsympathetically in the back mirror before flicking the windshield wipers to full power. It was raining cats and dogs again, creating both an advantage and disadvantage: it was harder to see and maneuver but also harder to be seen and outmaneuvered.   
  
"You knew it was suicide from the beginning," the X5 said dryly. He jerked the wheel suddenly to the left, flying around some large debris dotting the otherwise lonely two-way highway. Mole's comical, frustrated grunt at the manhandling caused Alec to bite back the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. Dalton wasn't so subtle. "I know you're not laughing up there, rug rat," the cranky transgen warned, the unfinished threat losing its effectiveness when he was covered with pinkish, cloud covered quilt.  
  
"I knew it was suicide," Mole continued. "But I thought I'd at least go down with some dignity. Gunshot to the head, torture," he listed hopefully. "Anything but going down buried ass-up in marshmallow clouds and pink fluff. What are we going to do when we hit a checkpoint, huh?"  
  
"Well I guess we'll find out now," Dalton whispered as the minivan pulled up in front of one of the infamous checkpoints, regulated by a man who looked to have seen too many doughnuts and not enough treadmills. Alec rolled down his window and squinted both against the pouring rain and the flashlight shining in his eyes.   
  
"Jam Pony messenger," he said, whipping out the I.D. from his side pocket. Clucking, the blonde officer switched the flashlight over to the teenage youth beside him but quickly dismissed the boy as underfed and a weak threat. "Isn't it a little after hours for you boys?" the officer snipped, one hand resting "commandingly" on his nightstick.  
  
"Special delivery," Alec said calmly, even as the flashlight's beam began to peer through the back window, sliding over the barely covered form of two grotesque transgenics. The cop whipped his flashlight back to Alec's face like a child pretending to be the head of an interrogation, his dark eyes narrowing in suspicion. The X5 wouldn't have been too shocked if the next words the he dropped were, "Where were on the night of May 25th?" Instead he merely nodded his head towards the cargo. "Is that the special delivery?"  
  
Alec nodded slowly, his eyes faking a glimmer of respect for the officer's intuitiveness when in all reality he was calculating just how many more precious minutes he had to wait on this idiot with a badge when they could be rescuing Max. To keep things moving, Alec leaned out the window and carried on a short conversation with the lard in a blue jumpsuit. Within moments, the cop nodded in understanding and let the minivan through in a flash, not even giving them a backward glance.  
  
"What did you tell him?" the blond in the front asked, which strangely echoed in their cargo bay exactly twice.   
  
"Either I told him I had two 'mis-creations of science' stashed in the back or I was supplying some big-boned hookers to a generous client of mine, take your pick." The entire van silenced for a few moments until Joshua asked, "Is there a choice C?"  
  
*****  
  
"Logan! Logan!" The little boy waved wildly to catch his attention and his tiny face positively beamed in happiness, eager to greet his long-gone friend. The lulling drone of an exoskeleton neared Ray until two toned arms wrapped around his body, the soft scratch of a short beard tickling the boy's cheek.  
  
"Hey, Ray! It's late, why aren't you in bed yet?" Logan asked, glancing down at his watch that read 11:30. The child seemed ready for bed. He was wearing pajamas - or they could be dress clothes, for all of what T.C. had to offer - and he seemed clean enough for a boy of his age. Butter curls smelled of shampoo and breath of toothpaste.   
  
"Aunt Max always sings me to sleep but I can't find her," the kid responded, looking like he just realized he'd lost his mother's hand in the middle of an overcrowded supermarket.   
  
"Well, I'm sure she's around here somewhere," Logan said too brightly. The words rang false even to his own ears; nothing hurt his idealistic outlook like lying to a kid. It was like destroying a future before it even had a chance to grow.   
  
Gem's cheery face popped out of nowhere. "I have an idea," she said, taking the small boy's hand. "Why don't I sing you to sleep like I did once when you were too sick to see Aunt Max? When Logan finds her, he'll send her straight to your room okay?" Over the tiny blond head nodding in front over her, she sent Logan a mournful look. She knew. The ordinary glanced down meaningfully to the boy's turned back, pasting a bright - albeit fake - smile on his face, which Gem reciprocated. And once again, for a few more cherished moments, nothing was wrong in the twisted little world Ray lived in.  
  
Watching the two trot off to bed, Logan glanced up towards the perch the communications experts sat. Alec must have kept the ordeal very hush-hush, no one even seemed to notice their leader's sudden disappearance or the dread painted on Dix and Luke's faces. As if sensing his presence, Luke turned slowly in his chair. Seeing the norm among the masses, he shook his head slowly. Logan cursed under his breath; he'd come to T.C. to be there whenever any news came in, maybe even to make himself useful instead of sitting at home alone with only his fears to keep him company, waiting for a thumbs down.  
  
Across the hullabaloo of the command center, Ray wheeled around suddenly, eyes bright and naive. "Goodnight, Logan!"   
  
Looking at the sweet eagerness on Ray's face, Logan knew Max had to make it home alive. There was no room for error, no other possible ending. Whether she knew it or not, whether she acknowledged it or not, too many depended on her.   
  
A swift kick of jealousy hit Logan in the gut. Ray didn't know that right across town his favorite "aunt" was dying, might already be dead, all in an attempt to save his life. He was so green and innocent.   
  
Ignorance was bliss.  
  
"Goodnight Ray!"  
  
*****  
  
Given the fact that they had packed more ammo than Rambo had, the foursome swept through the first two waves of Familiar counterattack pretty easily, leaving at least a dozen dead. They gained access to the mansion within minutes, pushing their element of surprise to its bursting point. But by then, the alarm had gone up, causing another dozen or so Familiars to collapse on the transgenics, ready to push back the intruders. They squared off in a wide hallway with old portraits adorning either wall. But the angry glower of those painted faces had nothing on those of the tight ring of Familiars surrounding them.  
  
It was a stand off with either side reluctant to start the next stage of the skirmish. "Remind me again, why didn't I opt to bring more guys?" Alec asked, directing the question at no one inparticular.  
  
  
  
"Because," Dalton replied, crouching into his favorite fighting stance. "You said this was a voluntary basis. Not too many care for Max or these odds. Who would volunteer?"  
  
Alec thought for a moment, circling and sizing up each of their foe. "Gem."  
  
"Doesn't count. You wouldn't let her come when she has a baby," Dalton replied.  
  
"Oh yeah."  
  
Impatient to get some real fighting started, Mole was the first to rush into a fray. He threw down the now empty guns, opting for the uncharacteristic knife. "This hallway isn't big enough for the two of us," he growled, swinging at one anonymous face.   
  
Early on Dalton was wounded by a heavy blow to his ribcage, but was quickly avenged by the sweet crunch of a broken neck courtesy of Joshua. Another blow to the head had the younger X out like a light. Yet both Mole and Joshua held their own very well, surprisingly short of battle wounds. The dogman seemed to gain momentum as he went, his punches growing faster and fiercer as the fight dragged on. Mole was just too happy to have someone to wail on for a change.  
  
After quickly shuffling the teenager's unconscious form off into a safer corner, Alec resumed his tirade of blurred punches and rapid fire kicks, taking out two whole cult loonies on his own. Knowing he couldn't afford to lose another man, he made sure to keep his ears preened for those little hints that his friends were still alive and kicking: Joshua's occasional grunts and guttural yowls of triumph whenever he knocked an adversary down, and Mole's constant stream of swear words and general insults of the adversaries threatening to flood him.  
  
Despite their valiant effort, the small group was overrun within moments of their first exchanging blows. Twelve Familiars on four transgenics - one unconscious - wasn't even close to a fair fight. Swinging Dalton into his arms, Alec called out, "Fall back!"   
  
The group tore down a random hallway, six or seven Familiars hot on their trail. They didn't run at full speed, making sure to keep their feet quiet. Familiars couldn't see in the darkness or follow footsteps they couldn't hear. Alec knew his feline DNA would keep him from running blind, and what the other two lacked in night vision they more than compensated for in their other senses. They wouldn't lose him. As long as they kept quiet and no one found a light switch, they would be safe. Within minutes, the sound of trailing footsteps dropped slowly until the runaways were fleeing in silence, only the splatter of leaking pipes accompanying their journey.   
  
The dark corridors twisted and turned. "I'm looking for the light at the end of the tunnel," Mole quipped. "I sure ain't seeing it."  
  
"At this point, I figure we'd be more likely to catch the flames of Hell," Alec retorted. His ears pricked up and he came to a dead halt in the passageway, two solid bodies bouncing off of his back and crashing to the floor. "Fix your break lights. You're supposed to come to a gradual stop, especially in less than ideal conditions. Did you even pass Driver's Ed?" Mole hissed, standing up and wiping the sludge normally coating the floor off of his backside. Turning slightly, he grunted as he hoisted the dogman to his feet. "Why stop?" Joshua asked.  
  
Alec hushed them both, lifting a finger to his lips before he even realized they wouldn't see it. "Just listen." Joshua's head cocked to one side, catching the hum reverberating around on the underground brick slime-slick walls. "People?" he asked, sniffing the air for a clue but only finding a sensory overload of stink.  
  
"Given the givens, I think we might be more likely to find Familiars than 'people'." Alec paused in thought. "Or transgenics." After glancing over his shoulder for the millionth time to make sure they still weren't being followed, he tapped the radio on his shoulder. "Dix, Luke. The tunnels of love down here are jam-packed with turnoffs, but are there any actual rooms? Over."  
  
"Affirmative," a voice crackled back over the intercom, sounding suspiciously like Logan. "First lady of the house went mad; husband locked her up in the basement. Typical white room, padded walls, small. Almost impossible to find. Why?"  
  
"I think we might have found it," Alec replied. There was an insightful pause on the other end. "It be a perfect place to store a defiant transgenic," Logan said.  
  
"Just what I was thinking." Alec switched the radio off and turned towards his compatriots, handing off Dalton's waking body to whom he assumed to be Joshua, judging by the hairy arms. "Let's go."  
  
They slipped down the hallway slow and stealthily, their breath thinning in a mixture of anticipation and slight fear. Within a hundred feet, Alec identified the angry voice echoing down the walls. If the growl behind him was any judge, so had Joshua. Fear caused the X5 to quicken his pace, instinctively knowing Max was in that room. Several hours had elapsed since White had stolen Max from him, and the Familiar had lost his temper. Things could not be good.  
  
Breaching the entryway into the room, the foursome paused in shock. Alec had imagined worse scenarios yes, but seeing one of the more horrific ones come to life made even the nastiest pale in comparison. Alec almost hoped Max wasn't alive until he realized that White was a little too sane to yell at a dead body.   
  
It took a moment for Alec's vision to take in more than Max's dance with the Devil, namely the man not ten feet in front of him. His dark eyes were wide and jaw dropped in the horror that the X5 knew must be mirrored on his own face. Alec watched the other man slowly draw a gun from his pocket, aiming it at Max's bloody face.  
  
The gun fired. Without even thinking, the X5 blurred around the nameless man. He covered Max's body with his own, the full impact of the bullet smacking him in the chest.  
  
For several seconds everyone - including White - was too stunned to move. "Joshua," Alec wheezed around the bullet. "Whatever happens, save Max." Then mercifully, all went black.  
  
*****  
  
A/N: Whew, I'm so glad that's over. I'll tell ya, I don't think I really cared for this chapter all that much. It's rushed - especially at the end - but I'm going to be leaving for vacation soon, and I wanted to be sure to get this out before I leave. Yes, there are a lot of mistakes - grammar and otherwise. There probably won't be another update for a few weeks. Any and all patience is appreciated. You could feel free to boost my ego and tell me it didn't suck. ; ) 


	8. Hope Floats

Disclaimer: Ain't mine. The ones that are mine you are free to dissect and sacrifice according to your pagan wills. ; ) I don't own "My Friends Over You" by New Found Glory, either.  
  
A/N: I really wanted to sneak this chapter in between vacations, if you were wondering (which you probably weren't). But I'll be gone again next week.  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
The first conscious sensation was pain, dull and throbbing down the left side. 'At least I'm still alive,' Alec thought the moment he was completely coherent. Eyes still closed, he ran a quick health check: legs were fine, arms seemed to be in good condition. His head was fully intact and clear as could be given that he was obviously on some heavy pain-killers, leaving him a bit groggy and disoriented. The chest though, left a lot to be desired in terms of ease. Alec grimaced. Even shallow breathing did little to alleviate the impression that a bulldozer opted to park on his upper torso and scrape over his heart while he had slept. He opened his eyes slowly, fighting the waves of nausea. When the swirling ceiling kept pulling at him, he closed his eyes in defeat.   
  
He was forgetting something, something important. Then all collided with amazing clarity. His eyes snapped open, forgetting the swirling ceiling and swells of nausea. "Max," Alec mumbled, sounding small and weak and vulnerable to himself, not to mention the lizardman sitting in a folding chair next to him.  
  
"Welcome back to the land of the living," he grumbled good-naturedly, closing - could it be? - a book. Judging by the slightly guilty look on Mole's face, it was probably some trashy romance novel he'd confiscated from Gem. Reading materials - besides Dix's scrolls and texts - were amazingly scarce. "You might need a tour, given your little coffee break," he added, bordering on civility, a sign of tenderness when considering the source. Catching his gentleness, Mole returned to his standard callous tone. "Don't think I'm here to mother hen you like Joshua, though. The guy was on the verge of collapse after tending to you for so long without sleep. He ain't got the shark DNA, you know. Dix and Luke wanted someone with you at all times and I got stuck with the short straw."  
  
"How long have I been out?" Alec rasped, fully taking in his surroundings. He was back in Terminal City, their makeshift hospital ward to be precise. Light drifted in through a nearby window, half-blocked by an Oriental rug turned into a shade. Given the givens, the low rays permitted to filter through the crude window shade brought immense comfort to Alec, grimacing in remembrance of the dark tunnels he'd passed through recently and the bleakly lit end of them.   
  
Despite the strain on the taut and inflamed muscles on his chest, Alec turned his head towards Mole, instead of merely glancing at him out of the corner of his sleep-crusted eyes. Reading the questions so plainly written on the X5's face - so plainly afraid to ask -, the other man's eyes darkened with ill-omened emotion, his jaw clamping firmly around his puffing cigar.  
  
  
  
"You've been out for five days, drifting in and out of consciousness. This is the first time you've been lucid enough to talk."  
  
"Five days?" Alec asked incredulously. Mole nodded, allowing a grin to tweak at the corners of his mouth. Manticore soldiers don't 'drift in and out of consciousness' for five whole days, and Mole knew it galled the younger man. Taking pity, he decided to soothe the bruised pride bred in him - Manticore would deny "pride's" existence even while honing it for its own purposes. Superior pride had been generated very well in Alec, and it had taken a bit of a blow.  
  
"You took a decent shot to the chest trying to save Max's life, Alec, not to mention the Red Sea you left when we had to drag your sorry butt back here. For a few moments, we weren't sure if you were gonna live." Mole replied sternly, out of masked concern. He saw that his tone had been misinterpreted. Alec's face fell as the word 'trying' set in.   
  
Although he'd hardly moved a muscle, Alec could feel himself - his soul, if he had one - collapse back onto his bed, the hope shot down. 'Trying to save Max's life.' He shut his eyes against the words. They'd failed. Max was dead. He choked back a small sob, his heart flaring in physical pain of suppressed moans and breaking on an emotional level at the same time. Mole must have subconsciously slipped into the commander's role, using that same uncaring tone 494 had heard so many times when he was informed of a comrade's death. He heard the same inflection that had been branded into him since childhood. So many times had he'd been told, "He/She is dead, 494. Report back to your exercises. Dismissed."  
  
Alec felt a distinct tightening in his chest, a ball forming of dangerous emotions, overshadowing the heartbreak: anger, rebellion, and distrust. It simply couldn't be. Alec may not really believe in God or Fate or Destiny, but he knew that he didn't secretly slave for her for over a year, track her down twice, take that bullet for her, just to lose her like this. "No," he said, sounding and feeling stronger than any other moment in his life.  
  
Mole understood exactly what Alec wasn't saying. "No, she's not dead. She was conscious, although she seemed more like the waking dead all the way back here," he stopped suddenly, unsure of himself. He didn't want to feed Alec false hopes: it wasn't until Doc gave the X5 the 'all clear' that Max's subconscious finally stopped fighting the inevitable and surrendered her defeated body to nothingness. Mole couldn't find good ground between false confidence and pessimism, so he settled for the blunt truth. Two shots point blank to Alec's chest: "She slipped into a coma. It doesn't look like she's going to come out."  
  
*****  
  
A few weeks later, the lean X5 wandered the perimeter of Terminal City aimlessly, kicking a stray pop can like a sullen six year-old. Hands nestled warmly in his dark jean pockets, head and shoulders sagging under their leather jacket in near defeat, Alec looked anything but the resilient one-man-military Manticore had trained him to be. He sighed again, the strain on his still healing chest - physically and emotionally - bringing a fresh round of tears to taunt his eyelids. The X5 fought them back angrily, just like he seemed to be doing for weeks. The last time he let himself become vulnerable enough for tears was during the Rachel episode. To cry would be to admit defeat. Max wasn't dead, not yet.  
  
'Rachel wasn't dead the last time you saw her, either,' one of his inner voices taunted him. 'How much longer did she last after that?'  
  
Alec's only response was a swift kick to the innocent pop can, sending it through the wire fence with the skill of a kicker putting a football through the goal post. The clatter of aluminum scratching against pavement fell on deaf ears, him being so determined to push those nagging and damaging thoughts aside.   
  
  
  
'Maybe that's why I've avoided her so much.' Alec shrugged to himself, it seemed valid. He'd figured he'd avoided Max because he always wanted to remember her as...Max. The girl that could persuade him into working an Eyes Only gig without even trying - not that she'd ever ask. The same chick who's presence was both so unchanging in its strength and passion yet unpredictable in its path that it seemed to knock Alec against the lockers of Jam Pony and strong arm him towards her at the same time. Not to mention those tiny fists that could put any heavyweight boxer to shame.  
  
He figured that since he'd had to keep himself working like a slave since he'd stepped off his hospital bed in an attempt to outrun her memory, Alec would never forget her. But if he'd have to remember Max - which he would - he'd much rather recall the Max he'd always known, not the hollow shell of a life lying on some mismatched hospital bed with a broken down monitor grimly measuring every heartbeat. It would be too much like seeing Rachel all over again. It made his throat close and heart crash to his toes just to think about seeing Max's strength reduced to a life no better than a vegetable's.  
  
'Seeing Rachel that last time brought pain, but it also brought peace,' the nicer of the two inner voices chimed in with annoying logic. 'You made peace with Rachel.'  
  
'No you didn't.'  
  
'Some peace is better than none.'   
  
  
  
'She didn't hear you.'  
  
'You made some peace with yourself, which can be just as important.'  
  
Alec kept on strolling down the fence, letting his fingers strum against the metal links while his inner voices duked it out. The X5's mind tore off on a new detour. 'Maybe that's why I'm avoiding her so much,' he thought again, remembering his inner voice's first taunt. 'I'm afraid of causing Max's death too.' It was childish to say the least, entirely brainless and off-track at its worst; but the simple words held a small ring of truth.  
  
He was still indecisive on which inner voice to listen to. Did he cause Rachel's death by that last visit or not? Was he the jinx Max had always claimed him to be or not? Should he visit her? Alec needed to make a decision fast and run with it, holding no regrets. If Max was going to die, she might not have too much longer. He should visit her.   
  
'But the pain. Oh God, the pain.'  
  
Alec stopped and glanced at the sky in a mixture of desperate pleading and irritable commanding. "I could use a sign. You and I both know I don't like to believe in You, but a sign of some sort would be nice."  
  
"I don't know if that's the way He works, but it's worth a try," a masculine voice chimed next to him. Surprised and annoyed at being so easily caught off-guard by a presence he should have sensed, Alec jumped back with a strangled curse, falling into a defensive fighting stance. The Sector cop on the other side of the fence quirked his head while taking in the Manticorian's reaction, like a scientist with his lab rat placed in a new stimulus. The X5 had been glazed over and assessed in such away for too long, his resentment at the other man's behavior reflected in his glower.  
  
Catching his mistake, the Sector cop smiled in a way that was both friendly and apologetic. "I'm sorry," he said honestly. "It's just that you guys are so fascinating and I've never seen anyone react so quickly before."  
  
Alec gave the Sector cop a sarcastic bow, harboring his innate distrust for any and all authorities - particularly with those whose pockets were lined by the government. And those who were taller than him. "I'm so glad I could entertain you. Perhaps I should just go grab some friends now and you can watch us do back flips and handstands so we can give you a real freak show production. You'll have to give them a few minutes to stretch out though, and some of our best performers are a little people-shy," Alec replied darkly, not bothering to hide the animosity clawing at his throat in haste to be released on the cop.  
  
Surprisingly enough, the words - nor the threat thinly veiled behind them - didn't even seem to graze the policeman's thick skull. He wasn't even close to intimidated by the killing machine not two feet from him, more than ready and able to tear through the wire fence and his throat. Instead, his eyes raked over Alec's six-foot frame, not in a degrading way, but with the unmistakable air of respect and admiration.  
  
"We weren't properly introduced the other night," the cop said, slipping his hand through the fence. Alec jumped back at the man's boldness, unsure if stupidity or bravery spurned him. Probably both. "My name's Keith," he said. "You held me and my partner up a few weeks ago before doing your flying squirrel impression over the fence."  
  
Alec's eyes flickered in recognition before glancing down at the still outstretched palm. "Alec," he said simply, grabbing the hand firmly. They grasped palm to palm for a moment before the cop tugged his hand back over the fence - shaking was out of the question with the wire fence wrapping around Keith's forearm like a handcuff.   
  
Formalities aside, Keith got down to business. He exhaled softly before stepping even closer to the fence, the wire diamonds pressing into his uniform. "I don't have much time, my partner's just down the street," he whispered almost conspiratorially. "I just saw you and I had to know if...if she's all right."  
  
"She?" Alec repeated dumbly.  
  
"Your girlfriend." Keith whispered, glancing down the block to make sure his nervous and trigger-happy partner didn't see him and misinterpret his little interlude with the X5 as an assault on Alec's part.  
  
"I don't have a girlfriend," Alec said emotionlessly, trying to hide his confusion. He was a strong believer in first impressions and for some odd reason didn't want this policeman, this Keith, to see him as an idiot. A blank front would be better.   
  
Obviously, he gave the wrong response. The policeman blanched to the point where Alec almost feared for the seven-foot man's consciousness.   
  
"Oh, God. She died. I'm so sorry to bring it up." Keith - despite the media's depiction of transgenics as ferocious and emotionless killers, or perhaps because of it - barely restrained the urge to reach through the fence again and grasp the younger man's shoulder in an attempt to offer masculine comfort.  
  
"Who died?" Alec asked, aggravated at being left in the dark. He was supposed to be the smarter one in the conversation here, and he was completely lost.  
  
"The brunette."  
  
Alec jerked. His head snapped up, eyes flashing with dark emotion. "How do you know about her?" he asked calmly, forcing his heart to slow.   
  
"I saw her when your friends tried to sneak you and her back in to Terminal City."  
  
"She's not dead," Alec responded his eyes now mirroring suspicion. "How did you know we were sneaking back in?"  
  
Keith's face flushed in embarrassment. "I saw you." Judging by Keith's nervous fidgeting, Alec guessed he did more than see them. He had helped somehow. "Thank you," Alec whispered, the words wringing with surprising sincerity. Keith nodded, his face holding no pride or mockery, just a sense of duty.  
  
"She's alive. In a coma, but alive. For now." A small silence fell across the duo. "What made you think she was my girlfriend?" he asked, studying his shoes to make sure Keith couldn't see the level of his curiosity.  
  
"The way she looked at you." Alec's head snapped up, the same dark emotion swimming across his eyes again. "Yeah," Keith continued. "From across the way, I thought she was dead. But when I got closer, I saw her eyes. They seemed blank and lifeless, but I could see this tiny...spark. When her eyes rolled, I thought they would just go to the back of her head and she was going to die before my eyes, but she didn't. They would move slightly and stop. Move again, stop. It took me a moment to realize that they were following you."  
  
There was no way Keith could know the impact of his words. Alec faintly shook with the collision, his fingers tightening around the fence to brace himself. Seeing his partner down the street, the policeman barely managed out a farewell before scuffling towards the nervous man. Still clawing the fence for support, the X5 gasped and let out a smile tears before wiping it away. One eyebrow raised sardonically, he glanced towards the ominous sky.  
  
It would seem he had his sign after all.  
  
*****  
  
'It's going to be a long day,' Doc thought dismally, his sigh sounding more like a panther's purr. The tail sprouting out the back of his jeans swung from side to side slowly, sluggish in its own depression. Stepping away from the heart monitor, he neared his patient's bed. The physical scars were fading quickly from her limbs and upper torso. But it was her face that disturbed the medic so greatly, growing more ashen and still every day. It was as if the fire of Max's inner torch was dying out, being replaced by death's frost. Checking Max's vitals one more time, he rubbed her dark head in light, sympathetic motions before taking a quick break and relaxing into a chair next to her bed.   
  
Doc took in the room, remembering another lifetime. Despite his furry, feline appearance and the resulting questions of his ability to stay sanitary, he'd shown a very high aptitude for medicine when he was still just a cub. His genius and skill had bought him his superiors' approval for becoming a medic, although he was a very well rounded soldier.   
  
Doc looked at the sterile walls and floor, fairly proud of the spotlessness. Amazingly enough, he didn't really do blood, not outside its right environment anyway. It could be handled in a proper context, all over his sterile floor or a worktable, where it could be cleaned and disinfected easily and quickly and everything could return to normalcy before the next patient came in. Field med, though, had always made him queasy, blood staining grass and sand didn't settle well. It wasn't natural in his mind's eye.  
  
Neither was having Max in a hospital ward for so long.   
  
Growing up working on doomed anomalies and soldiers, the panther transgen had never really struggled with death. The hospital room was his home, and with it came losses. But this girl was evicting him from his home just by her diminished presence. He glanced down at the young woman again, heart tightening as his cool eyes watched her chest rise and fall steadily under the sheet. Death was slowly trying to steal her away; he could sense it the way he always did before losing a patient.   
  
For four weeks she'd been trapped in this coma; a good, solid month. Her seemingly endless sleep was both a blessing and a curse: it was giving her body time to heal but slowly letting it die in one fell swoop. While the Doc had grown up where death and life met at their intersection constantly, watching Max wait patiently for her "walk" signal made his innards tighten. He didn't want her crossing that street yet. If not for her, then for Ray. And for Alec.  
  
He took her limp hand into his paw, his excessive body hair a fur coat against her skin. "You've got to come back for him," he whispered. Even if by some miracle Max could hear him, she wouldn't know who he was referring to anymore than the man himself did. Maybe both of them.  
  
  
  
He shouldn't be here. Max was his only patient at the moment, but there were bound to be others who would need his attention. He wasn't particularly close to Max, but he was unusually vexed at the mere thought of leaving her alone. He'd chased Joshua and Mole off an hour ago to give them the break they wouldn't allow themselves to have in their nursing of his two high-profile patients, but now he wished he hadn't. What if she died now? Call it flimsy sentimentality, but Doc had always had a strict rule: no one died alone, conscious or otherwise, if he could stop it.  
  
The small rapping on the open door supplied the pantherman with no little relief, becoming even more grateful when he turned and saw Max's next visitor crossing the threshold into her room. The transgen had a smart reply on the tip of his tongue but bit it back. Although he didn't exactly know why, Doc knew it cost this young man a lot more to take those tiny, vulnerable steps into her room instead of the long strides wearing a track into the floor just outside in his earlier nightly pacing.   
  
Alec leaned against the doorjamb, but the false air of coolness did nothing to hide the fervor of emotions roiling just below the surface from the medic's eyes. "I came to make a sacrifice to the Most High Goddess. She would probably be less likely to curse me and throw it in my face while she was snoozing," the X5 explained with sardonic practicality, looking everywhere else in the room except directly at the said goddess.   
  
Doc sensed a need for a little banter. Waving towards the hallway the X5 had frequented nightly for nearly three weeks, he lightly asked, "And your vigils before?"  
  
With a small bow, Alec touched his right hand to his heart. "Merely making sure my heart was truly repentant of all my sins and failings before entering her chambers." The words were meant to be as sardonic as his first statement but instead traveled across the room with a small, distinctive tinkling of truthfulness, not lost on either party. Gaining a bit more courage, Alec stepped away from the door. He slowly crossed the floor in those tiny, vulnerable steps, acting as if he was still checking out the room when both he and Doc knew that the X5 had had every nook and cranny memorized within five seconds upon entering it. The facade was lost on both of them, but Alec just couldn't give it up. He had to keep up a strong front, at least until the medic left the room.  
  
"How's she doing?" Alec asked, making direct eye contact with Doc to avoid their patient's pale, closed face.  
  
"She's sleeping peacefully, the good and bad news of a coma. At least this way I know I won't have to worry about her trying to leave her sickbed before she's ready," the medic finished dryly, remembering Alec's fight to escape from the prison of his own bed. Mere hours after his first coherent talk with Mole, Doc had discovered the half naked X5 sneaking down the hallways to grab some "reasonable food" instead of the "gruel" he was being fed, or so that had been Alec's excuse. It wasn't until several more "escapes" that Doc had become convinced that either the X5 had a large splash of Harry Houdini in his cocktail, or he was trying to outrun the demons that could corner him lying alone in a bed for days on end. Checking on him one night, the panther doctor guessed it was the latter, if the tense face and small moans disrupting Alec's sleep had been any clue.  
  
The X5's trail of thought seemed to follow the doctor's, first ranging from roguish humor before settling into a more somber pensiveness. Sensing the mood changed, Doc brought the attention back to the more important things at hand. "Her limbs are healing fine, Alec, her chest, back, and face as well. Thanks to Manticore's inventiveness, she'll bear no physical scars in the long run." The X5 nodded grimly, knowing the doubt the doctor wasn't voicing: if she wakes up.   
  
"What I'm worried about is her mind," Doc said slowly, testing the waters. Maybe now wouldn't be the best time to bring up what seemed leaps and bounds ahead of Max's currently comatose state. And yet there were aspects of the future that were so intricately woven into the here and now of her condition.  
  
Obviously Alec saw the connection between future and present too. It would be easier to solve future problems if they started to eliminate the roots of it now. "What specifically are you worried about?" he asked, wanting to catch every word and shut his ears all at once.  
  
"Well, there's the usual problems when it comes to comas: if in fact she does wake up, the emotional turmoil, flashbacks, et cetera..."  
  
The X5 thought he might be able to take the scenarios they were being dealt, but his emotions ruled the other way. "Don't you think you're getting a little ahead of yourself, Doc?" Alec snapped impatiently.  
  
The pantherman ignored the remark, knowing the X5 was hard-pressed by restrained fear rather than anger. "Not exactly. Alec," he said softly, grabbing the young man's elbow the same way Keith had ached to do earlier. "I've been thinking about this for a while. I don't think she'll wake up. Not necessarily because she can't, but because she won't want to."  
  
Alec's eyes questioned the medic in a heartbreaking mixture of confusion and desperation. "Won't want to?" He stammered. "But what about Ray and Logan and, and..." 'Me,' he finished inwardly.   
  
'She doesn't like you, remember? You wouldn't exactly be a number one incentive for waking up,' one of his inner voices sneered.  
  
Doc shrugged his furry shoulders sadly, knowing he was only sensing a smidgen of the young man's inner turmoil, so blatantly slapped across Alec's face. "Think about it logically," the medic urged, finally rising from his chair and grasping both of the X5's shoulders, as if he could force the reasoning through his fingertips into the young man. "We know White wanted Ray, and you said you heard him holding you over Max's head. She was in enemy territory and under hard questioning for information on her comrades. What were you trained to do in that situation, Alec?"  
  
Realization hit the X5 like a nine-iron golf club upside the head, dizzying him slightly, eyes suddenly not focusing. Feeling the younger man's minute tremors gave Doc a reason to settle Alec in his chair. "We were trained to forget," the medic said, answering his own question at the other transgenic's silence. With a small sound linking a groan and a whimper, Alec shoved his face in his hands, feeling defeated. The other transgen stepped back, sensing he was treading on sensitive ground when it came to soothing masculine grief. Particularly Manticorian, masculine grief. Pacing back and forth before the foot of the bed where Max's too motionless body lay too quietly, the panther transgen continued with his theory, his tail swishing back and forth in subdued excitement. "Max cared..."  
  
"Cares." Alec corrected tersely through the tensed hands that imprinted his face in restrained emotion.  
  
"Sorry, cares too deeply to let anyone hurt any of her own kind. My guess is that she deliberately forgot Ray and you and probably anyone else she cared about, to save them. Max pushed them so far back into her subconscious that now she wouldn't know how to bring you all back, even if she knew what to bring back," he finished quietly, stopping and staring at the woman in question.   
  
"Max might be able to physically wake up, but her frame of mind isn't letting her. Her mind has no reason to live. Her body's healing, but her mind is dying, Alec. I hate to sound trite, but the body can't live without the mind. If something doesn't change..." Head still bowed, Alec's hands shot out, pushing back the conclusion of the statement to Doc's toes and trying to force reality to maintain at least a two foot gap from him at all times.  
  
"Just go," Alec whispered, trying to control his vehemence, his open palms pushing towards the still open door. A window in the hallway cast the sunsets' rays through the room's entrance, swishing across the floor and slipping past Alec's open fingers to scornfully kiss the brown head like some sort of painful crown. From Doc's angle, the X5 transformed from flesh and blood into a phantom, a fallen angel, the rays slipping down his face giving him an ethereal appearance. "Please, just go," he almost inaudibly repeated. The emotions he'd tried so hard to control were slipping through his mask like spies in enemy territory. First a few would come, but soon they'd bring their whole army. The X5 needed the other man to be out of there before that could happen.  
  
Doc almost couldn't resist nodding regally, suddenly feeling like a page before his king, bearing specific orders. Strolling out the door and back to the real world he had forgotten, the panther transgen flicked a button on the doorknob, locking it from the inside. Closing the door behind him, he gently looped a notice over the knob, reading "Do Not Disturb." Whipping out a small permanent marker, he added three distinct words: "Under ANY Conditions." Being too nice a guy - plus the fact that there wasn't enough room on the small card - he didn't bother putting in writing the consequences of disobedience, figuring the thinly veiled threat would be enough to keep any sane transgenic away. It was the running joke in Terminal City that Doc had to play his Jekyl character to its extreme to balance out the Mr. Hyde in him that no one wanted to see; Alec and Max's time together wouldn't be disturbed.  
  
Still facing the door, he felt two distinct individuals behind him and the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. Slowly turning on his heel, Doc encountered Mole and Joshua, who both smelled of tonight's special: Mexican Night if their wafting breath could be trusted. If either had the ability to bear true eyebrows, they'd be halfway to the back of their necks if the wide, curious stares were any indication. Mole glanced behind the transgen blocking the doorway and read the sign, whistling low in appreciation. "I would have threatened castration," Doc retorted, keeping his voice low. "But I ran out of room."  
  
"Didn't know you had it in ya," Mole quipped softly. He nodded towards the door. "I thought it was pretty much an open room."  
  
"Alec." The one hushed word caught the full and complete attention of Joshua and Mole, though nothing more needed to be said. The two recent arrivals nodded in complete understanding. In silence the trio turned down the hallway, their silent steps somehow echoing softly in the deathly stillness hanging around Max's door. Not another word was spoken among them until they were safely outside the medical building, Doc impulsively locking that door as well.  
  
*****  
  
He simply couldn't take it anymore, pretending he didn't know what was going on, playing his role in the mind games the adult's were foisting on him.   
  
Jumping from his hiding place, Ray ran from the game of hide-and-seek - or escape-and-evade, as his friends called it. Because of the lack of Manticore's blood flowing in his veins, he always made sure his hiding places were distant and secluded from the others', knowing the other kids - even the younger ones - were faster, stronger, and smarter than he was: they could pound him in a second. He normally took the long route to the safety zone to help increase his chances of success; today he ran straight from the game. No one would notice his disappearance.  
  
Ray high-tailed it to his secret sanctuary, merely a little blond blur on the street if anyone bothered to glance in his direction. When he came to his building, the pale monkey sightlessly shimmied up the ladder of the fire escape, collapsing into a mixture of long-buried wheezes and sobs when he finally flung his thin body over the edge of the roof. Containing his father's capacity for patience, Ray barely resisted the urge to rip the short hairs from his head in frustration and a brutal attempt to distract his breaking heart.  
  
Did they think just because he was a kid he was blind?   
  
Seething, Ray converted from an undersized and vulnerable blonde waif into the epitome of rage and resentment at his callous treatment. Out of unspoken fear, the child's tears became angry. He hurled himself to his feet, leaning so far over the edge of the roof his nose pointed towards the pavement hundreds of feet below and his feet lifted from the safety of the rooftop. "I'M NOT AN IDIOT! Do you hear me Terminal City?!? I'M NOT AN IDIOT!" He hollered it so loudly it made his stomach shake as the walls echoed the message, apparently planning to carry it all the way to down to Mexico.   
  
That was only tip of the iceberg. Ray was far from finished, continuing with a series of names and colorful curses that even the most notorious of six year-olds had no right knowing, keeping up his earsplitting volume. Petite fists flailed in despair against the building in surprising strength, as if he wanted to knock it over with him on it, eventually staining the bricks with a deeper shade of red.   
  
Only after he almost passed out from oxygen deprivation and pitched his body over the side of the roof did he break off. Several gasps later, the consuming black of oblivion lightened. Ray flattened his feet against the edging of the roof. With an indomitable grunt, the six year-old used all the potential power in his elfin little legs and flung his body back towards the foundation of the roof, soaring almost comically towards the cement and crashing like a sack of potatoes. He nearly gave himself a concussion on impact and blinked away the stars flooding his vision.  
  
Whatever Ray lacked in patience he more than made up for in passion. Giving into his actual emotions, the sorrow flooded him until he thought he was going to drown in his own tears, if he didn't die of asphyxiation first. Everyone over five feet tall had been giving him the same gaze for weeks: that age-old blend of pity, speculation, and concern for his future. Ray knew that expression well. It was the same one people had given him when his mom's sister had told his new neighbors that his mother was dead and his father had "abandoned" him. It was the same one every adult had given him at his aunt's funeral. Ray knew it well, knew what it meant.  
  
"She'll be better soon," everyone had told him. "But she's too sick to see you now." He hadn't seen her for weeks.   
  
Aunt Max was dying.   
  
"Please, please God. Not again," he hiccupped out, unmindful of the tears and snot seeping down the front of his T-shirt. "I love her so much," he said, helpless and desperate as a baby's first cry. "Ple-ease-ease-ease," he softly repeated, the broken word stuttering violently like one long note tripping up and down an octave as he shuddered. Ray curled into fetal position and the deep, bloody scratches on the side of either hand stained his dusty jeans.   
  
Ray needed her so much. Aunt Max never treated him like the little kid everyone else saw him as. She held authority over him and played with him, but she didn't patronize him like adults always did. Aunt Max respected the person she knew was developing inside of Ray, instead of being like the other adults who always acted as though the "maturity" miraculously grew over the night of your twenty-first birthday.   
  
Before he was even seven he'd lost two mother figures. He couldn't lose a third now.  
  
So deeply absorbed in his own newly released pain, Ray never noticed the large, gawky figure that lumbered over the fire escape and curled the crying child into his arms. Afraid to try to manage himself and a nearly unconscious boy down the ladder, Joshua crossed over to the door leading to the rest of the building and kicked it in. He strolled down flight after flight of stairs, the young boy becoming more and more subdued as he slipped into oblivion. By the time the hairy and gentle beast reached the apartment he knew Max and Ray lived in, the boy was fast asleep. Joshua laid Ray down on the bed before looking for some supplies. The overgrown pup exaggerated every step in an attempt to make sure he didn't bump into anything and thus disturb Ray's peaceful slumber. Carefully Joshua cleaned and bandaged the torn skin on Ray's hands and put ice to the visible bump on his head.   
  
After turning off the flickering bulb above his head, Joshua designated himself the boy's caregiver for the night and curled Ray into his side as he lay down on the mattress. Ray tensed and mumbled slightly in his sleep before settling into his full-body pillow of soft, furry warmth. Gently brushing the hair back from the boy's face, Joshua whispered his secret to Ray: "Max will be all right. Joshua knows these things."   
  
*****  
  
Alec sat motionless in that folding chair for what felt like days, more unsure of himself than any other time in his life. He hadn't moved a muscle since Doc left. Dusk surrendered to the absolute darkness of night, and still he didn't move. Alec had never felt so sluggish and stiff; the blood no longer pounded or slid through his veins, but the brake laid on time fell across his entire body as well, blood trickling at a snail's pace.   
  
But with the stillness came a restlessness, and Alec forced his muscles to unlock as he stood slowly, stretching lethargically and taking some pleasure at feeling joints pop. He crossed over to the far wall, flicking the switch that poured light into the room. His eyes didn't need the light really - in fact they were aggravated by the sudden change - but he needed that last ditch effort at stalling. Taking several deep breaths, he braced himself for what he had to do. Ripping off the proverbial band-aid, Alec did an about face and looked directly at Max. 'This isn't too different from tearing off a band-aid. You get stung either way,' he allowed himself to think sarcastically.  
  
However one good look at Max's ashen, sunken cheeks and they way her head hung limply to one side caused Alec to drop his constant, subconscious shield of sarcasm and egotism. The deathly pallor of her face and arms carelessly strewn on either side of her body was a swift kick to Alec's solar plexus.   
  
Up until that moment it was easy to imagine it away. Up until that moment he had half-expected some shred of the old Max to face him, maybe she'd even sit up and rail him for being late in rescuing her or letting her be taken by White in the first place. Up until that moment he had hope. But as he looked at this lifeless creature before him, that small part of his heart that had clung so dearly to those wishes withered. Besides physical resemblance, there wasn't a shred of Max. The aura that she didn't even realize she held - the one that could be so powerful that it seemed touchable at times - had been replaced by death's ambiguous presence.  
  
Up until that moment, he'd ignored it, the feeling of departure. The reality struck him with a near mortal blow to the flicker of hope inside him. Alec saw the actuality of it all with amazing clarity, felt death seeping through the pores in his skin. Doc's words echoed back, "Her mind has no reason to live." Max was dying.   
  
She was really dying.  
  
The Adam's apple in Alec's throat worked furiously, as if trying to pull the tears down from his eyes by the bucket load. It was too late though, for they were already spilling over his dark eyelashes, clumping the fine hairs in groups as if parting tall grasses for the their fellow legionnaires that followed close behind. The tears ran unchecked down his high cheekbones, a few slipping down his throat and soaking the neckline of his dark T-shirt, before he agitatedly wiped them all away.  
  
She was dying. And all of Manticore's schooling was useless; he didn't know how to save her.   
  
For the first time in his life, Alec let himself wallow in self-pity like Max occasionally did on her really bad days. It didn't last long though: self-pity was Max's weakness where self-hatred was his. It built slowly in him as it always had, but he'd never really possessed the power - or he was always at the point where he didn't want the power - to stop it. The revulsion crawled along his skin as it slowly boiled over.   
  
'It's my fault. I let White get Max, and now I'm letting her die.'  
  
A bizarre thought slipped through his self-directed abhorrence then: he wanted to kill himself, slowly and methodically. He had no real desire to die, but he so desperately wanted to extract the pain he had unconsciously unleashed on others - on Max - back to himself, he felt willing to do anything. If he could curb the torture he inflicted to himself, then the one's he always cared for most wouldn't be affected by the monstrosity he saw himself as anymore. It sounded crazy, but astonishingly logical in his fanatic state.   
  
It sounded as crazy as Ben. His now deceased psychotic twin had battled his own self-hatred, if Alec remembered correctly. Not that Manticore had ever told him that - or even Max for that matter - but he had always figured that was the heart of Ben's problems. But instead of pouring the hostility into himself like Alec did, Ben had lashed out at others when the loathing needed to be released, killing them. 'But he'd always given them his barcode, like he was killing himself. Maybe Ben had been on to something,' Alec thought mordantly, a humorless smile on his lips. Comparing himself to his older twin in even the vaguest of terms was always a bucket of cold water over Alec's emotions, calming his back to a greater degree of sanity.   
  
He scoffed at himself, but it was hollow, the last of the loathing slipping away, hiding on a far shelf to wait for another rainy day. Alec constantly contended with his self-hatred, and it was moments like these he attacked himself in near masochism. But looking at the Max's wan figure made him feel guilty and self-centered. Max needed him now more than ever and he was wasting precious time on himself. Typical.   
  
Thankfully the tears tapered off for a moment as Alec sat down as gently as he could on her bed, oddly afraid of disturbing her sleep. The X5 allowed himself a small smile at the thought, but it never reached his eyes. The mattress was old and the springs were shot, causing her body to nearly roll to its side and look toward him. Almost timidly, Alec's hand reached for her profile. The moment his skin gripped hers the even the memory of the self-hatred melted away. His fingers caressed the side of Max's face in an intimate perusal, as if he could force animation back into her body, since he so clearly felt a surprising energy field centering around the fingertips stroking her skin.   
  
Torn between nostalgic longing and hopelessness, Alec felt lost in his own misery and worries. So he did what Max would have predicted him to do in any uncomfortable situation - or any other situation for that matter: he talked incessantly. His sincerity and choice of topic would have surprised her though. "They say that people can still hear you when they're in a coma," he mumbled down to her, tearing his eyes from her face to watch his fingers rake through her dark hair. "And whether or not that's the case, I've got a little confession." His emotional control was slipping again, tears knotting in his throat. "I hate you," he whispered, although his tone held no trace of animosity. "I hate what you've done to me. I was fine on my own, being the good little soldier forced down my throat. Then you came along. I was warned about you. My superiors told me you'd be a handful, even by my standards." Alec let out a strangled laugh. "They underestimated you, but not as much as I did.   
  
"I walked into your cell that night all prepared to follow my orders: get in, get the little soldiers swimming for your headquarters, get out. And what did I do?" He asked himself, unaware of the silent streams coursing down his cheeks. "I got myself pushed over by some ill-equipped X5 comin' from a heart transplant. And as much as I'd like to say I was distracted by your nice figure..." He instinctively ducked against a blow that wouldn't be coming and frowned in disappointment when it didn't. "I knew it was more than that, even then, although I never would have admitted it. I should have taken you out, but I held back the same way that I ended up holding back at Logan's apartment.  
  
"You got under my skin from the very beginning, with that intriguing combination of your tough girl act and your mothering notions. I should have known I was screwed then." He paused, deep in thought. Even if Max could somehow hear him, she wouldn't remember what he was saying. However part of Alec's preservation instincts didn't want to take this confession too far; there were things that he didn't want to admit to her before he had even come clean to himself. But as he glanced down at her slimming figure, looking shrunken from lack of good food and sun and exercise, he caved a bit. What if this was a last chance, just as it had been with Rachel?  
  
'It's now or never.'  
  
  
  
"You affected me more deeply than any other person I've ever met, with the exception of Rachel. But now that I think about it, I can't help but feel that you two tag-teamed me without realizing it. I met Rachel first and fell in love with her, but we all know how that sordid little fairy tail ends up," he finished disdainfully. "I'm dragged back to Manticore for reindoctrination. I'm supposed to forget everything, but it only made every detail manifest in my mind. For a little while Max, I was alive. And after the reprogramming, despite all the outward coolness, I was still hungry for it, kinda defenseless against it." Even now the wonder of that moment in time wasn't lost on him. "Then you came along, so vibrant and angry and passionate from the moment I first laid eyes on you.   
  
"That was Manticore's big mistake, pairing me up with you. Rachel was the first time I had ever shown any major rebellion and committed that major faux pas: human emotion. They should have known how vulnerable I'd have been to you. I saw all that you were and that part of me that Manticore hadn't killed - the part of me that loved Rachel - wanted those emotions, that fire, back. Then of course you burned Manticore to the ground and they couldn't stop me from having it anymore," he whispered down to her. Alec straightened a bit from his over and exhaled loudly, raking his fingers through his tangled hair. He looked and felt incredibly embarrassed, as if Doc had waltzed back into the room and caught him confessing his undying love for Max or something completely ludicrous like that.   
  
This one-sided conversation was heading into dangerous territory.  
  
"I can't say that you made me see the light or that your 'charm' made me want to become a better man overnight, but it was like Rachel planted the seeds in me, and left you with the work of watering them and making sure they grew. And despite the complaints and numerous beatings I received at those vicious little fists of fury attached to both of your arms, you never did give up on me, did you?" Alec had started out in his characteristic light, devil-may-care tone, his self-preserving armor fully restored. But as he saw the truth clearer and clearer, he reverted back to the honesty and wonder that had been plaguing him since he'd walked into the room.   
  
He looked down at her face, a calm smile twitching the corners of his mouth. Max might be a woman marked for death but Alec would be damned if he'd let her go without a fight. He was unaware of how his passion had grown as he'd talked, the vehemence of his tone and expression slowly filling the small room, pushing death into a far corner. Alec had become the small flicker of hope he carried inside of him without even realizing it. "You never gave up on me, and that's why I'm not going to give up on you," he finished with a bright smile, forcing himself to be more hopeful than he felt.   
  
And yet the promise held confidence and conviction for him instead of anxiety. This was a serious undertaking, but part of Alec felt that now he'd finally gotten to the job he'd been avoiding for so long started, he'd have the strength to carry them both and finish it.   
  
Alec's eyes glanced up at the window over their heads. Dawn was beginning to peak through; a new day had begun. He'd stayed up all night worrying about Max, again. "Woman," he started in mock malice. "You constantly cutting into my sleep time is really beginning to piss me off. Make room," he ordered gruffly, pushing her to the side a bit before crawling into the narrow hospital bed. He made sure she was comfortably draped across him before he let his head fall back onto her pillow. With Max's head tucked into his neck, her low, even breathing soothed Alec better than any lullaby ever could. Slipping into unconsciousness himself, the X5 mumbled, "I'm gonna talk so much you'll have to wake up just to shut me up."  
  
An hour later, Doc gradually inserted the key in the lock of Max's door and turned it doubly slow, as if hesitant to see what lay on the other side. The panther transgen was shocked but incredibly relieved at the sight that he ended up witnessing.   
  
It was as if two bodies had fused as one in a lovers' slumber: their legs lazily coiled together, her leaning into his chest, heads tipped toward one another, his hand cupping the base of her skull protectively, the fingers woven into her dark tresses. Doc positively beamed at the hint of a contented smile on Alec's lips. He seemed to have made some sort of peace with Max overnight.   
  
Knowing from experience that Alec was a light sleeper, the medic decided to do Max's morning check up later, pushing in the lock and slowly closing the door. But when his eyes drifted over to Max one last time his eyes widened then blinked rapidly. Finishing the movement gently, he waited to hear the doorknob click before leaning against the doorway, a question looming behind his furrowed brow. 'Nah,' Doc thought to himself, shaking his head slowly to push the inkling away. 'You're imagining things again. Letting your hopes get the best of you.'  
  
Nevertheless, the image of the barest trace of a grin on Max's lips was never far from the back the panther's mind for the rest of the day.  
  
*****  
  
"Sit still," Joshua commanded, pulling a light streak of a yellow-brownish color across his canvas. In deliberate defiance, Ray kicked his feet a little harder and bobbed his head and shoulders a little more robustly to the tune in his head. He sang it softly, his head rolling from side to side across his shoulders. "You were everything I wanted/ But I just can't finished what I started/ There's no room left here on my back..." he hummed the part he didn't know before coming back stronger at the end. "Though you swear that you are true/ I'd still pick my friends over you."  
  
  
  
Joshua let out a hefty sigh. So much for the serene pose he was trying to capture. He knew that underneath the layers of dirt, naughty grins, and impish eyes there was a miniature angel trapped in his subject's body...somewhere. It had been Joshua's plan to extract that forgotten angel in the youngster's body and slap it down on the canvas so there was proof Ray had more than just the Devil in him. His subject seemed to have other plans, however.   
  
Dix stood behind the dogman's painting, eyeing it rather dubiously. The one-eyed scholar surmised that Joshua had somehow managed to establish a decent base before Ray had lost interest in becoming an immortalized work of art. He noted the scowl of concentration on the other transgen's brow had deepened with a hint of irritability when he couldn't paint the hair of Ray's constantly bopping head. "So the long-suffering Joshua does in fact have an end to his boundless good humor," Dix remarked dryly, not bothering to hide the smile in his voice, which only widened when he saw Joshua deliberately ignore him.  
  
"Sit still," Joshua commanded again, only he sounded more sulky than authoritative, so the demand was quickly put out of the mind of the bouncing child. "What does Max do when Ray disobeys?" he asked the talkative child.  
  
"She spanks me," Ray answered honestly, knowing Joshua didn't have it in him to raise a hand against him. "That'd just be mean, though. I'm already being punished."  
  
"What makes you think that?" Dix and Joshua asked together.  
  
"Look!" he yelled, his arms waving around the scene. And now that Joshua thought about, the setting for his painting had been part of the problem. It was one of those rare perfectly clear days of Seattle; the sun's rays glinting harshly against the rubble of Terminal City. The artist had planned to the use the city's wreckage to his advantage and contrast it with Ray's serenity, a "diamond in the rough" approach. Of course, although Joshua was occasionally no more than an overgrown pup himself, he'd forgotten a cardinal rule: little boys don't sit still, especially on days like this.  
  
Admitting defeat, Joshua let the boy go with the wave of a tired paw. The dogman, although disappointed that his attempt at another masterpiece was all for naught, he couldn't bite back the grin responding to Ray's happy squeal. Shaking the boredom away, Ray tore down the street, calling back a quick, "Thank you!" over his shoulder.  
  
Dix laughed and clapped a hand on Joshua's shoulder. "You can take the boy out of the Devil's claws, but you can't take the Devil's claws out of the boy," he said, before strolling away. Looking down at his unfinished painting, the artist couldn't agree more.  
  
Within minutes of his liberation, Ray was sneaking down the hospital hallways, plastered against the wall, listening intently for the sound of footsteps the way Aunt Max had taught him. She and Ray would play the spy games like this all the time, racing down hotels' hallways stealthily to see who could reach the ice machine on the ground floor first without ever being seen by anyone or captured by each other. They'd play "sneak to the car" and "hide in the room" often, each "mission" - as Aunt Max called them - having different "objectives."   
  
Although unusually bright - even by Familiar's standards - , Ray had never realized that the games had been more for training than entertainment.  
  
Today's mission: get into his aunt's room without being seen by anyone, especially Doc. The panther medic had been the most adamant in keeping Ray from seeing Aunt Max, so he decided he didn't like Doc too much. Doc was mean, the enemy in today's little exercise.   
  
Coming to Aunt Max's door, Ray saw the infamous "Do Not Disturb" hanging off the knob. He decided it didn't apply to him almost before he finished reading it. Ray glanced over either shoulder, making sure the long, white corridor was clear on either end, mischief smoldering in his light eyes. With a devilish grin that could only be matched by Alec, he dramatically withdrew from his pocket a small hairpin he'd confiscated from Gem. He jammed it in the keyhole, twisting the way Aunt Max taught him until he heard the catch open. With a smug smile, Ray slowly turned the knob and walked into Max's room.  
  
Alec and Max were sleeping together on the bed, but that was okay because Ray liked Alec - a lot. He once heard Mole joke that he was actually Alec's kid, for such "a combination of crafty schemes and good looks" almost had to be passed down through that particular X5's bloodline; Ray didn't mind the jibe, he actually kind of liked the thought.  
  
  
  
Yet it wasn't Alec he was watching from the doorway. Ray only had eyes for the favorite aunt he hadn't seen in over a month. He crossed the tile floor with a silence one would think could only be possessed by a true transgenic and not her protégé. Eyes drifting across her body, Ray's eyes welded up with tears.   
  
In the games he'd been playing throughout the day he'd forgotten Aunt Max was dying.  
  
"Hey, there," Ray's eyes shot up at the call of Alec's drowsy voice. The masculine fingers wiped the two tears coursing down the boy's face. "Don't cry."  
  
"She's dying, isn't she?" Ray stated it more than posed the question. He felt himself huddling inwardly, giving up and shutting out the world like he had done when his real aunt had died, before he'd even heard of a beautiful woman named Max.  
  
Alec watched the emotions on Ray's face - or rather, the lack thereof - with a stab of empathy. "Maybe," he answered honestly, watching the kid's countenance become even more guarded if possible. "It's not healthy to do that."  
  
"Do what?" the sixty year-old little boy asked, staring at Max's face and yet staring at nothing.  
  
"Draw into yourself like that, hiding your pain. I was told I had to do it when I was a kid and now it's hard for me to stop." Alec tipped the tiny chin and turned the pale eyes towards his murky ones, looking desperately for Ray but only finding only a wall. The kid was good, too good. "Do you want to come up here and get a better look?" the X5 asked.   
  
Off of Ray's somber nod, Alec uncoiled from Max, and although she was cool to the touch, he felt a twinge of yearning at the loss of the little heat she had provided, even though it had been more emotional than physical. "Take off your shoes," Alec ordered.   
  
Ray looked pointedly at the X5's feet. "Yours aren't," he challenged, gaining a bit of his old bite. Alec smirked and sat up, silently kicking his shoes off without missing a beat, calm as though he hadn't just been reprimanded by the half-pint. Ray grinned, scrambling into Alec's lap.  
  
What should have been awkward - three bodies on a mattress that could barely hold one - was actually very comforting, each deriving strength from the familial presence of the other two. Ray's fingers touched Max's cheek the way Alec's had the night before. She was the coolest he'd ever remembered her. "Why isn't she dead, yet?" he asked softly. "She looks dead."  
  
"Do you know what a coma is?" Ray shook his head, leaning back into Alec's chest, tucking his head under the X5's chin. "A coma is like she's asleep. But she's so deeply asleep she can't wake up," he explained simply, wrapping his arms around the boy's body protectively.   
  
"Will she ever wake up?" Ray asked. The muscles his cheek leaned against shifted and fell again as the transgenic shrugged. "I don't know," he whispered. "But I'm going to try help her."  
  
"Me too!" the boy cheered.  
  
"That's if you live long enough," a voice rang ominously from the still open doorway. The duo on the bed turned and took in the livid eyes that spoke volumes more of the anger Doc was feeling than he could ever put into words. His dark, furry presence was near irate, absorbing the sun's energy from his back and shooting it out through his jet-black irises.  
  
"And that's Doc's impression of the 'Wrath of God,'" Alec jibed. He pretended to address a crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, let's give him a hand." The pair on the bed fell into a thunderous round of applause, full of whistles and catcalls enough to wake the dead, as though there were fifty people packed near the bed instead of three, one of them being unconscious. If anything could wake the patient, their ovation would be it, but Max didn't even stir a muscle.  
  
Amazingly enough, the provoking these two were purposely laying out soothed his anger instead of rousing it. Doc hadn't seen either of the two so jubilant in weeks, and he found himself almost charmed by their wild antics. They both looked so much younger when they smiled. Swearing softly under his breath, Doc bit back a smile. He was supposed to be angry, and he pulled up a very convincing mask of fury, not wanting Ray to think he was so easily let off the hook. "What are you doing in here? The door was locked."  
  
Although the panther's voice boomed, Ray was not to be intimidated. "I picked the lock," he quipped proudly, sitting straighter in Alec's lap.   
  
"And the sign?" Doc thundered.   
  
  
  
"I couldn't read it?" Ray offered, trying to muster up the most innocent look he could. It didn't work.  
  
Doc tapped his foot loudly on the tile, his tail swishing back and forth heatedly. "Don't worry, Pinocchio, I'll come up with a proper punishment for you," he promised. He then turned on Alec, "The child resorts to easy charm and bold-faced lies without missing a beat when cornered. Mole was onto something: he is your son!" Strolling out the door, Doc slammed it behind him for added effect, smiling as the duo's riotous laughter followed him down the empty hallway.  
  
*****  
  
For the next three weeks, Alec delegated some of his work among his fellow transgenics. Instead of being peeved by their own increasing workload however, most were relieved. It was the general consensus that although a very flexible and strong leader, Alec took entirely too much upon himself.   
  
So instead of working on the daily routine, the X5 spent every spare moment with Max. And he was true to his word: he did talk to her, incessantly. He talked to her from the moment he stepped in her room to drop by first thing in the morning, until the door clicked behind him after his last visit late at night, when Doc would force him out. Alec would brush Max's long, dark tresses while entertaining her with the day's endeavors and Ray's latest crimes as well as his ensuing punishments. The X5 played second fiddle to no one when it came to her care giving, only relinquishing the comatose young woman to Gem when it came to bathing her.  
  
Alec took over Max's range of motion exercises as well. To keep her muscles from atrophying, the younger man spent several hours a day working her legs and arms, massaging her back, and so on. Of course massaging Max's back was almost impossible when standing next to her bed, not to mention uncomfortable on her masseuse's own joints. So of course common sense always led Alec to sit on her back very softly to get the best angle for the optimum massage range. And of course Logan always walked into Max's room in the middle of a back massage, much to both of the men's chagrin, although Alec always managed to hide his behind a cheeky smile, leaving Max's would-be boyfriend more distraught than ever. It wasn't that Logan didn't trust the X5 - okay, he was a little wary - but it was more that he felt a twinge of envy that he was in love with Max and couldn't touch her, while Alec could have his hands all over her and not feel a thing - or so he hoped.  
  
And boy was Logan wrong.  
  
It wasn't that Alec spent all his time lusting after Max or checking out her "attributes", although the temptation did plague him on more than one occasion - several in fact, but the X5 always kept his eyes front. The self-control and restraint Manticore had instilled since childhood didn't come without its benefits. It was just that Alec knew he felt more than he had any right to when it came to her. Those twinges of feelings he'd violently fought since first meeting Max had grown steadily over the past year, going into hyper-drive when she'd left and showed no signs stopping at her return, now went into some damned light speed. He was careening out of control and didn't even know where to find the breaks.  
  
But he wasn't in love with her. He wouldn't be stupid enough to do that. As he'd told Max once, "We weren't designed to be chumps." But still, Max roused something inside of Alec. Something unnamed, too dangerous to put a finger on.  
  
  
  
Alec's turmoil had taken a new turn. Doc could see it, feel it. Whenever he was in Max's room with the other X5, that hidden unrest made it feel like there were four bodies in the room instead of three. Doc could sense the fear that she'd never wake up had transformed into to desperation saying she'd have to. Determined to voice his fears, the panther transgen took his feline cousin to the side one day.  
  
"Alec," he said. "You're wearing yourself to a frazzle."  
  
The younger man shrugged apathetically, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "She's waking up, Doc. I can feel it."  
  
"I'm not going to have her wake up from a coma just to have you work yourself into one," he responded gruffly, though not entirely unsympathetic to the X5's feelings. "Alec, look at yourself. You are two steps away from psychological break down. Back at Manticore you'd be considered next in line for a trip to Psy. Obs." Right after Doc said it, he wished he could take it back, watching Alec's eyes darken with the memories. He knew Alec had taken a beating in that particular wing of Manticore's medical facilities.  
  
Doc looked over the X5 from the medical standpoint: bags under the eyes, pale skin, loss of appetite. Alec looked weary beyond his years. He'd become even more withdrawn than usual and had once or twice mentioned chest pains and palpitations, sure signs of a nervous breakdown. He was living a circular existence: hiding his emotions only made them boil more, which led to hiding them all the harder. If Max didn't wake up soon, Alec's obstinate nature would eat away at him. The good doctor was becoming seriously concerned for the X5's health.  
  
Although cool and collected on the surface, Alec's own obsession with Max's recovery was beginning to scare him as well. His depth of feeling seemed to border on the psychotic. He pretended not to care about Doc's warnings even as he listened intently. And he tried to stay away more, give himself breaks. They never worked out. His leisurely walks around the perimeter would always lead back to her room, that dim hope that she'd woken up while he was away never dying.  
  
But Doc had been right in his assumption: when pushed too far, even an X5 will break. And when an X5 breaks, he breaks big.  
  
*****  
  
"Logan, I need to borrow your car."   
  
Disrupted from his discussion of Familiar theology with Dix, the older man's light blue eyes blinked up at Alec with more than a little surprise. Something was off, really off when even the ordinary could sense it. The X5's cheeks were flushed but judging by the heaving breathing, Logan guessed the transgenic had blurred his way across the compound. Then he looked into Alec's eyes. The irises surrounded their pupils like hazel flames around a black hole: wild, feral, and not to be swayed.  
  
Although Logan had his doubts about Alec's sanity at that point, he also knew there was absolutely no talking sense into an X5 set on a mission - his first year with Max proved nothing if not that. In a tense silence, the blonde went against his gut and fished out his keys. The small slices of metal had barely touched the transgenic's palm before he was blurring back out the command center, the door swinging loudly against the silence of night.  
  
'One down. One to go,' Alec grimly thought.   
  
Given Logan's status as a cyber journalist - plus a few lined pockets - the older man was free to come and go from Terminal City as he pleased, the stupidity of the mob not even considering his possibility as a transgenic sympathizer. His car was parked in the compound's major garage, next to the common sight of burning garbage cans and the freaks of nature surrounding them. Alec strode toward Ol' Bessie with all the bearing of a C.O., and the small gatherings of transgenics parted the way like he was a leather-clad Moses with his contemporary Red Sea. Alec crawled into the car and flicked the ignition, the car squealing out the garage and into the night.  
  
A half-block from their hospital, he stopped the car, slamming it into park. Inside the building, his feet flew down the hallway, rushing towards Max's room. Making sure Doc was nowhere insight, he slipped Max's body into the wheelchair Logan had provided for when Gem took her to bathe and possibly afternoon strolls. The silent duo managed to get halfway out the door when the panther transgen stopped them.  
  
"Alec, where are you taking her?" he demanded, foot tapping and tail swishing in time.  
  
"Late night walk."  
  
"It's nearly one in the morning!"  
  
"Fine, a very late night walk. It's not like I'm not going to bring her back Doc. Have a cow...no have a mule, they're smaller." With a bright smile, Alec was out the building with Max in tow, leaving yet another door swinging and another man baffled in his wake.   
  
They reached the car without further incident, making it all the way to the fence before stopping. Alec recognized the guard on duty immediately, and located his partner a good three blocks down the street. Rolling down the window, he hissed, "Keith. Keith!"  
  
The Sector cop strolled up to the car fearlessly, a large smile plastered across his face. When his saw Alec's traveling companion, it fell. "How is she?"  
  
"Better. I have an idea that might move things along, but I need to get out of T.C."  
  
"Well, that's a bit of a predicament, considering I'm not supposed to let anyone out, with the exception of that reporter friend of yours." They both paused for a moment, trying to decide what would be best to do. Alec had to get Max out of Terminal City or he'd go crazy; Keith needed to keep his job. Suddenly, Keith reached over and pulled on the door handle of the driver's seat. Confused, Alec stepped out. The Sector cop took the gun from its holster slowly and handed it to the transgenic before turning around. "Make it look good," he said. "I'll need the proof when I say a transgenic took me out. I've got a family to feed."  
  
Alec clasped one hand on the policeman's shoulder, hoping he could feel his gratefulness through his fingertips. With a grimace, the transgenic used the butt of the gun against the cop's head, knocking Keith unconscious. "I own you one," he mumbled, slipping back into the car and tearing down the street just as Bruce came running to assist his partner.  
  
Several minutes later, the dark-haired X5 perched at the top of the Space Needle, poring over the girl lying limply in his arms. He touched her face gently; the sallow cheeks were wet with drizzle and his tears. "Max, I'm begging you, wake up." He laughed hollowly in an attempt stop the tears. "Come on Max. You'd have to wake up just to see this. Me, the pain in your ass, begging, crying, for you to wake up. For you not to die on me."   
  
The calm that he'd be harboring for weeks had been fading fast since they'd left Terminal City, and had now so diminished to near non-existence. "Damn you, Max," he rasped, shaking her slightly. "Wake up!" He stopped joggling her, sickened by the sight her of her head lolling so indifferently across her skeletal shoulders. The old Max would kick him across the room for even trying to grab her in such a manner and having the audacity to shake her. Her unresponsiveness was only another sign of what a far cry this breathing corpse was from the woman, the friend, he'd once known.  
  
Alec sat her up in his lap so they were face to face; his legs sprawled to accommodate her and hers for him. He lifted her up slightly and drew his jean-clad knees together, making a crude recliner for her similar to the ones he'd seen X5 mothers like Gem do for their babies. Max leaned back into his legs, the back of her head kissing his knees as her dark hair poured down his thighs. "Damn you Max," he muttered angrily, raking one hand through her hair while the other lingered on her throat, not sure whether to caress her or throttle her. "This is all your fault. I didn't have to care you know, you just suckered me into it like you sucker everyone else. I knew better, and still I fell for it."  
  
"What's it going to take for you to wake up, huh?" he asked loudly. Alec rotated slightly, so they were both parallel to the lip of the Space Needle. Turning her head to face the horizon, Max's closed eyes shut out the mixture of beauty and sorrow the panorama had to offer, the mixture she loved so much. The mixture that dwelled inside of her. "You're not dead yet," Alec roared down at her, enraged at her pale, impassive mask and his loss of control, the control he prided himself on. Max always got under his skin and did crazy things with his brain and emotions, and he was tired of it. "You hear me, Max! You're not dead yet!" He swore loudly. His volume kept rising to where his voice grew hoarse and his words bounced off the surrounding buildings hundreds of feet below, the words trying to clear her coma-fogged brain. "So dammit, crawl out of whatever hole you've locked yourself into and come back to me!"   
  
After ripping at the zipper of his leather coat, Alec grabbed the flaccid hands at Max sides and shoved them under his T-shirt, forcing them against his palpitating heart. "Come back to me," he whispered. With an unmanly, broken cry, Alec leaned his head down to her chest and began to sob, giving up hope. He was wracked with them, letting the months of this nightmare be released. Alec's body shuddered so violently he never felt the fingers so tightly pressed to his chest drumming slightly, in tune to his seemingly breaking heart.  
  
*****   
  
  
  
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.  
  
  
  
Fingers felt a pounding beneath them, the sensation traveling up two arms, across two shoulders, up the murky brain. The burden of a heavy, foreign object on a chest.  
  
Thump, thump.   
  
A sound - jagged and wheezing and mournful - assailed ears.   
  
Thump, thump.  
  
The smell of smog and foreign flesh permeated a nose. Lips parting, the taste of another's breath touched a tongue.  
  
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.  
  
Two eyes opened. Spots of blinding light seared pupils, before fading into recognizable city lights.   
  
And suddenly, Max was back. Sort of.  
  
*****  
  
It wasn't until long after Alec's sobs subsided that he felt a distinct change in the air surrounding them: a spark of electricity, a hint of life. Lifting his head slowly, he expected to encounter the same wan face he'd seen for months. His eyes slowly stroked her neck, her chin, cheeks, nose, and then something completely unexpected: a pair of open, confused, but bright eyes.  
  
Alec was afraid to move. If he were imagining those soulful brown eyes were open he didn't want the fantasy to disappear. Then she blinked. Twice. And then Alec couldn't move; the blazing euphoria paralyzed him to capillaries.  
  
It took Max only a moment to recognize the face. "Ben," she whispered through the invisible mush in her mouth, her fingers rubbing the chest under his T-shirt soothingly. Ben's face stayed bright, but that fervor of hopeful emotion shifted slightly in his eyes. She didn't understand what she'd done to disappoint her brother until she remembered.  
  
Ben was dead.   
  
"I'm not Ben," the stranger said slowly, as if understanding her muddled brain wouldn't pick up the words very quickly. Her mouth opened, a question forming on her lips at a frustratingly sluggish pace. "I'm his twin," he answered, a smile tweaking his lips. The stranger reached for her face, and Max ducked instinctively, her dizzy eyes not missing his look of defeat before he recovered with a bright smile.  
  
"What do you remember?" the stranger asked.  
  
Alec watched Max wither into herself like a frightened child, having a sickening feeling he knew exactly what she remembered. "White," she whispered brokenly, though much more lucidly. "He...he..." she stammered, embarrassed at the tears biting her eyelids and falling down her cheeks.  
  
"Shhh," the stranger soothed her, wiping away her tears. "I know." He drew back when she leaned into his gentle fingers and Max glanced at him in confusion, watching him battle some inner emotion.  
  
In an attempt to distract her, he filled her in briefly on who he was, purposely skipping over how antagonistic they were to each other. A very small part of him hoped for a new start. She filled him in on what she knew of herself in turn, remembering every detail except for himself and Ray. She'd forgotten them both. 'Yet she still remembers Logan,' an inner voice sneered. 'Maybe she came back for him.' Alec didn't fight the thought, oddly disturbed by the notion.  
  
'Maybe she'd forgotten you and Ray first because she was most afraid for you,' the other voice countered. Instead of easing Alec's bizarre emotions, that idea only riled them further.  
  
It wasn't until their basic introductions were over that Alec was made painfully aware that Max hadn't moved from his lap. He blushed for the first time in years and hastily helped her to her feet. She seemed very steady for someone who'd been in a coma for nearly two months - then again, she was a transgenic - and insisted on walking on her own. Alec followed her down the Space Needle slowly. In the enveloping darkness, Max couldn't see that her new companion kept one hand out at all times to catch her in case she fell.   
  
  
  
They slipped into the car in a companionable silence. After buckling his seatbelt, he turned to face Max's curious gaze. "You said Alec was your name?" she asked. Swallowing convulsively, Ben's twin nodded. Although it touched confusion, Max's tone had never been so sweet when saying his name, and it shook him more than he'd ever care to admit.  
  
"Alec," she said softly with a hint of wonder, as if trying it on for size, the word a caress. He turned away suddenly and started the car quickly, not wanting her to see the odd reaction so nakedly plastered across his face.   
  
"Who gave it to you?" she asked looking at him again with those expressive chocolate eyes, making Alec derisively think that those eyes had been a lot easier on his heart when they were closed.   
  
"A friend," he responded cryptically.  
  
Max shrugged indecisively. "It's not bad, I guess," she said politely. She grimaced at the tone. Polite was not her thing. Like her late friend Original Cindy, she told people what she thought straight up. "It isn't too great, though. Your friend needs some work when it comes to naming people."  
  
That shocked a laugh out of Alec, and suddenly he couldn't stop the flow. Just like the tears had been a release of his fears and sorrow, the laughter was a release of his elation. Max just stared at him in confusion which only made him laugh all the harder.   
  
As the stranger's deep laugh washed over her, she found herself smiling in response. An unguarded, honestly pleased smile. And catching sight of it was more than enough to sober Alec up a bit, disturbed by the pleasurable ripples his stomach discharged in response.  
  
Taking a sharp tone towards Terminal City, Alec said. "I'll have to tell my friend you said so."  
  
*****  
  
  
  
A/N 2: Whew, that chapter was a doozey! All the drama! I've been joking with a friend that I'm a couple of dyslexic devil worshippers and a flying saucer from a good old-fashioned soap opera. I am quite convinced that Diet Mountain Dew is my new inspiration though, the nectar for my muse. I was drinking it in like a flippin' fish with water while I wrote the majority of this chapter.  
  
A/N 3: Whew, I'm never writing another chapter of this length again. I'll admit, I liked this chapter for a little while. Then my muse collapsed halfway through and I stopped liking it. I'm fasting and praying that you will feel differently. ; ) 


	9. She Was So In

Disclaimer: Ain't mine. I don't own "Sleeping Beauty" either, although it was one of my favorite childhood movies. Go Disney!  
  
A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews. I felt so much better once the chapter actually went up and then when all of you guys gave so many supportive reviews...whew, it made my vacation even more fun! Except now with some people saying they like where this story is going (when, quite frankly, I don't know where it's going) just piles on the pressure. I'm gonna crack!   
  
A/N 2: I'm so sorry about the length in between chapters...writer's block. My muse went on strike.  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
A mob of police, media clowns, and disparaging vigilantes crowded the pearly steel boundary line of Terminal City, all salivating over the most recent reports of an X5 crossing the fence and assaulting a Sector cop in the process. All were looking for a piece of the action, whether they wanted to catch it on the end of a nightstick, camera, or a baseball bat. This was the first transgenic-on-human assault since the freak masses had shrunken inside the poisonous forces of Terminal City, and the mob - not to mention the politicians behind them - almost hoped for some sort of massive confrontation to use as leverage for a call to pull in the armed forces to eradicate Seattle - and the world - of the transgenic dilemma. The Sector police were posted to push back the crowds, but only put up a half-hearted attempt, and the mobs went for the most part unchecked. Thankfully, the transgenics on the other side of the fences had the common sense to ignore the uprising outside. They kept inside towards the heart of their realm, both training and instinct saying that eventually the crowd would grow restless and disperse from their one-sided skirmish.  
  
Two pairs of transgenic eyes picked up the spectacle several blocks away and decided to park Logan's battered car in a place that would be both inconspicuous but easy for the owner to find later. Since it had been a chilly night, Alec had stuffed Max's arms through her only sweatshirt, a hoodie. Sensing the glance her companion now threw in her direction, Max hid her dark locks and exotic face - which, thanks to the Seattle media, were almost as recognizable as her barcode - inside the hood before stepping out of the car.   
  
Cursing himself for being all kinds of a fool, Alec realized he'd left his own hooded sweatshirt inside the fence, rendering it useless at this point in time. He turned and spotted his saving grace in the backseat. "Logan a baseball fan?" he mused aloud, then shrugged. Whatever it took to save his butt. Throwing the Red Sox baseball cap on his head, he turned it backwards until the bill covered his barcode, in case the collar of his leather jacket should slip and reveal the top of it. Not being able to stop the hint of vanity, Alec gave himself a quick once over in the driver's side mirror, grimacing at how tastelessly far the hat went back on his forehead. "Incredibly dorky but otherwise low-key," he mumbled to himself before climbing out of the car.  
  
After walking over to the driver's side, Max had slumped against the hood of the car nonchalantly, waiting for her escort to get ready. "Alec," she whispered again, her exceptionally warm breath making a small cloud in the night's chill. She shrugged, more at the person himself than the name. He was a handsome stranger, but still a stranger to her, seeing as her self-imposed amnesia left her with a complete blank when he came to mind. Then again, he could be lying about them knowing each other. But his own story - though she sensed 'Alec' had been hiding something - seemed to fill in several blanks, and what did he have to gain by lying to her? Why would he have been cradling her in such an intimate manner if they hadn't known each other? Max shrugged against her thoughts. Pushing them to the back of her jumbled mind, she swore to herself to figure this whole thing out after she got back inside Terminal City.  
  
Turning her attention back to more immediate matters, she saw Alec rustling around in his seat and rolled her eyes at his antics, somehow familiar with the action. When he finally stepped out, Max greeted him with a sarcastic wolf-whistle, gauged low enough for only him to hear against the throng's stragglers, just now walking toward the fences, baseball bats and beer bottles brandished.  
  
"Gee, I thought you'd discovered a pimple on that perfect chin of yours and we'd never make it to the prom," she cooed, oozing out the drama. Alec was not amused. "Shut up."  
  
She went on nonetheless. Her first form of psychological defense was shrouding herself in a confident, bordering on cocky, attitude and sarcasm. Max had every intention of keeping that facade up, no matter how Alec disturbed her senses. "I think Manticore put a little too much estrogen in your system. I could have been ready to go to the moon in the time it took you to step out of the car." He stood in front of her now, one hand on either side of her body, braced against the hood, leaning toward her in what Max assumed to be a menacing fashion. It didn't work. The geeky, albeit boyish, tilt of his baseball cap was all too amusing and almost kind of cute. She leaned towards Alec slightly, a frank, informative expression on her face. "Did you ever see Woody Harrelson in 'White Men Can't Jump'? You guys look like you have the same clothing designer."  
  
Alec could feel the frown on his mouth deepen, although he was all too aware of the smile sparkling in his eyes. He should be insulted, he should be trying to figure out away into Terminal City; he should be stepping away from Max, at the very least. Instead the X5 felt himself step out of time, happy to spend a few moments with this woman, still shocked and giddy at her sudden resurrection. His eyes washed slowly over her face, which looked haggard and older than it's years, given the fact that she had spent so long fighting to awake from a horrible nightmare, only to be plagued by the consequences of reality: the horrible nightmare hadn't been a dream. To some extent, it had only been the beginning.  
  
And yet, there was that element she held that had grown since their first meeting - despite her eternally woeful outlook and the Fates' best attempts at destroying it - and the element had grown deeper and richer and truer in the fullness of time. And maybe since she'd been so inanimate before, it shone all the brighter now, nearly blinding those who could see it, making her haggard appearance verge on stunning.   
  
She looked more beautiful, more tempting - on so many levels - than ever before, and the realization terrified him more than any trip to Psy. Obs. ever could.   
  
Blissfully ignorant of the never-ending battle Alec so carefully hid behind his eyes, Max's own eyelids drooped slightly despite her best efforts to keep them at attention. The whole effort of waking up was much more exhausting than she thought it could possibly be, considering she'd spent two months resting up for it; not to mention the unusually long trek down the Space Needle, which left her dizzy and almost wondering if she should have taken Alec up on one of his many offers to help her down. But no, she just had to be stubborn and say she could handle it just fine on her own, despite her shaking knees.   
  
And now she was paying for it. All she wanted was to be in her own bed but she didn't have the energy to make it across the fence, the adrenaline-like energy buzz of excitement giving way to exhaustion. Max stifled an uncharacteristic yawn, letting her eyes close.  
  
"You could use some sleep," Alec observed when he saw the shuttering lids. Without warning, he pulled her off the hood of the car and swung her into his arms, pointedly turning away from the fence. He didn't get two steps before Max wormed her out of the unwanted embrace and landed on her feet, the feelings of confusion and anger rejuvenating her tired limbs. "Who do you think you are?" she asked, jabbing a finger at his chest. "You're not some twisted knight in shining armor. You don't just pluck a transgeni..."  
  
Alec slapped a hand across her mouth none too gently, forcing her to swallow the words. Her nostrils flared in irritation; Max's tempers always did steal her common sense. Knowing her style of fighting, Alec pulled Max's body next to his, trapping her hands - her first line of defense - between their chests. Then, in the blink of an eye, he spun their bodies against the doorway of a nearby building. From the street, or even the sidewalk next to them, their shadowed figures would seem entwined in a sweet embrace.  
  
Max struggled against his hands in vain, her mouth working ferociously against his palm. "Are you done yet?" Alec asked calmly, still not removing his hand despite the dire threats he knew she had to be making under there. "I have explained that I have at least another decade of training on you, right? That includes several holds and pins brought to you from around the world. Given half a second and a quick hand rotation that you are clearly incapable of blocking from your current position, I could make you a lot more uncomfortable," he continued matter-of-factly, volume pitched where only Max could hear. Her response was two simple, succinct words, muffled by the still unmoving palm. "Tsk, tsk. Such harsh language, Maxie." Alec grinned at her show of fire, which only riled her and struggle even more uselessly, which only made him smile all the wider. It was a vicious cycle.   
  
Getting the occasional curious glance from passersby, he got serious. "We are less than two hundred feet from a lynch mob ready and willing to pounce if someone so much as cries 'Wolf.' What chance do you honestly think we have if they find not one, but two, freaks of science in their midst? Now is not the time to lecture me on transgenic etiquette." Max stilled, just now realizing the fatal faux pas she'd nearly committed. Alec continued in his same infuriatingly logical tone. "You've had a busy day. You're tired. About half a mile around the perimeter I can get us in. But quite frankly, I don't think you have enough strength left in you to weave through that crowd and make it home. I'm going to support you, whether you like it or not. If you want to walk, fine, but I will not be havin' you fall asleep on your feet, hittin' the asphalt, and showin' these lunatics your barcode."  
  
He removed his hand from her mouth, and Max kept mercifully silent. "This is as close to a compromise as your getting, Max: you walk on your own two feet, I have a hold on you. We'll just look like another young couple in love that just happens to be meandering through a crowd of would-be vigilante killers. Do you understand?" She nodded.  
  
"Say, 'I understand.'"  
  
Max gritted her teeth, her nostrils flaring yet again. "I understand," she ground out. Alec smiled, without a hint of victory or smugness. Even in her near irate state, Max couldn't help but notice what a nice smile he had, but she'd be damned before she told him that. She hated being commanded by anyone, especially this man who seemed to know so much more about her than she about him.   
  
  
  
Hand in hand, the duo snuck through the crowd. When one particular large and boisterous man's dynamic mannerisms sent Max sailing into Alec's side, he accepted her without complaint. The hand he secured around her waist made it oddly worth the bruise he knew he'd have in a few hours.  
  
*****  
  
Max's mental homecoming was a lot warmer than she could have ever predicted. Her rough and ready family was a few balloons and a box of firecrackers away from throwing a parade in her honor, wrapping around her like a mismatched quilt the moment Alec pulled her out of the sewers. She was so shocked by the fuss and reaching arms that her fingers only tightened on her helping hand instead of gracefully releasing it. The mixture of excitement and exhaustion made her dizzy enough to accept Alec's help as he tucked her into his side and led her through the general hubbub.   
  
The crowd seemed to take the hint and gave her some breathing room, which ended up being a mistake. Seeing an opening, a blond puff mowed down Aunt Max. After running around with his X6 and X7 friends for several months, he had picked up the tactics of combined speed and stealth. Max was flat on her back before she even knew what hit her and the crowd let out a near comical gasp.   
  
  
  
Since Max's reflexes were running at a less than optimum rate, her head smacked painfully against the asphalt, stars twirling in front of her eyes. She recovered quickly though and managed to sit up despite the 90 pound growth adhered to her chest. The child - a boy it would seem - shuddered against her chest so violently that Max first feared that the poor kid was having a seizure, until the dampness of his tears seeped through her shirt. The near-dormant motherly instinct pulled him tight to her chest and wove her fingers through his hair while her eyes swung to Alec's, silently begging to know what she had done to hurt this second stranger.   
  
Although keeping his face neutrally blank, Alec's stomach lurched painfully at the sight before him. Ray didn't realize he was giving his vulnerability over to a stranger; Max didn't realize she had nearly given her life for the love of this boy. Alec swore under his breath and shook his head sadly at Max. At this point in time, there was nothing she could do to comfort him. Kneeling softly beside the pair, he touched Ray's head gently, his fingers dangerously close to caressing Max's. "She's okay, but she doesn't remember us, Ray," he said softly.   
  
Ray. She wracked her brain. Nothing.   
  
Ray and Alec, what was so special about them that made them lost to her? But if she shared this level of intimacy with "Ray," open tears of relief in front of God and everyone, she obviously had loved him almost as much as he seemed to love her, and she desperately wanted to remember him, for his sake and her own.   
  
  
  
Ray's head shot up, imprisoning her with his disbelieving stare. The blue eyes searched her brown desperately, and came up empty. The sparkle in her eye, the one she saved especially for him, was gone. The child didn't know whether to cry hysterically or go into his safe zone and shut himself down, but Alec had said that was dangerous. In the end, Ray did what any self-respecting White would do: chose the hardest, the rockiest, the most dangerous path. He hoped against hope.  
  
Max watched the emotion-filled eyes of the boy shift drastically in several directions, but when the dust settled, the look he gave her was as tender as it was resolute. His hand cupped her cheek gently, as he often did when he had found his aunt crying for Original Cindy. A small sense of panic jolted inside of her, fear that she wouldn't be able recollect this "Ray" at all, which would only drive the knife all the deeper into his young heart.   
  
But Max did not need to fear. For all his worldly wisdom and pain, his heart was still young, he could take it. As usual, Ray read her perfectly. "Don't worry, Aunt Max. You'll remember someday. I'll help you."   
  
Thankfully the youngster inherited his father's tenacity, proving to be just as determined to recover her memory as Ames White had been to pry information from her. Morning, noon, night, and every breathing moment in between Ray spent as Max's personal mosquito. She would push him away out of fear at first, seeing as Manticore left a lot to be desired in its familial relations department, then she swatted at him out of frustration as she became more and more comfortable with him. But Ray was persistent in his pestering, only falling back for a moment or two before re-launching his attacks.   
  
More often than not, Max would lay her head down at the end of the day with a heavy sigh of frustration, feeling like a defective grenade. During the day Ray had struck a particular pose, jutted out his lip a certain way, or said something that felt all too familiar to her. The pin was pulled. Seeing twinges of memory like a dim light bulb near the door of a dark wardrobe, she'd wrack her brain for the specifics, trying to crawl closer to that light and the beyond. But in the end, zilch. The light bulb switched off, the memory faded into blackness. Like shutting her eyes after staring into the sun, Max could see a dim outline of the memory before it died away completely. The pin could be pulled but the grenade never exploded.  
  
On the other hand, whether or not Max loved him before - or even how much - was slowly becoming irrelevant. Day after day she felt herself being drawn in by the tyke and his lovable antics. The glint in his eye when a particularly mischievous notion wandered in between his ears Max was especially lured to, although it seemed somewhat misplaced. For some reason the sparkle seemed to be a bit more at home in eyes a bit more - green? stormy?  
  
But out of all the uncertainties of her life Max knew one thing for sure: whether or not she could touch him, she still had Logan.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
Once Sleeping Beauty had awakened from her seemingly eternal sleep, she and Prince Charming were reunited. Their relationship was better than ever. For upon the fair maiden's awakening, the invisible, subtle barrier that had so long hung between them opened up like a curtain on a stage. With that barrier gone, and the castle scullion that had plagued her for so long now forgotten, it would seem that the star-crossed lovers' fate had changed. Cue the euphoric, triumphant music, for they were free to live happily ever after.   
  
For a short while at least.  
  
Then overtime things reverted back to normalcy and Sleeping Beauty returned to her standoffish state. Then she reunited with the same castle scullion who'd nearly driven her over the palace wall and into the moat not eight months before. Then suddenly not remembering the scullion was more a hindrance than a help, for she no longer knew why she had disliked him so passionately before, and something that could be misconstrued as a near friendship had formed between them. Then the barrier seemed to grow again; instead of a stage curtain of velvet, it had morphed into a drape of chain mail. Then the more time Sleeping Beauty and the scullion spent together the faster the drapes came together, the louder the chains scraped across the stage, threatening to shut out Prince Charming for good.  
  
Then Prince Charming took matters into his own hands by forming a plan and throwing caution to the wind. And then, Prince Charming inadvertently flung treasure toward enemy hands.   
  
*****  
  
Slam-shifting into park, Logan Cale carefully removed the keys from the ignition. He stepped out of the car, his exoskeleton whirring loudly in the silence. The back alley chosen for the rendezvous was less than attractive, strewn with drunken bodies and other vermin. As per habit, he checked the surrounding area until he was convinced that each body around him was too intoxicated to be a threat. The fully loaded pistol in his pocket would have to wait for another day.  
  
The sound of scuffling feet caused the cyber-journalist to whirl around so quickly his exoskeleton squeaked before returning to its usual drone. His contact stood several yards away, eyeing him openly. He appeared tall, lanky, and handsome despite the white puffs streaking his otherwise raven black hair. The man's look and bearing could pass for one of Ames White's cohorts, but the blond shook off the thought quickly.  
  
"Did you bring the blood?" The man calmly asked when he was within speaking distance, stopping not two feet from Logan, voice pitched low lest his disturb the drunken stupors surrounding them. The words held an obscure, eastern European accent. His eyes were dark and unnerving, leaving the younger man a bit dubious. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and he'd gotten this nameless contact through a very reliable source. From within his jacket pocket, Logan withdrew a small vial filled with the red liquid in question.   
  
Doc had run some blood tests on Max when she first arrived at Terminal City that night, checking for psychoactives or other toxins that could prove detrimental to her recovery. Once the blood had been proven clean, Eyes Only had swiped it for a rainy day. And this was that rainy day.  
  
"How long until you can have a cure?" Logan asked, placing the vial and his future delicately into the stranger's palm. He proved too hasty. The older man's fingers stiffened around the bottle, a hint of suspicion darkening his already black eyes. Logan tried to backtrack. "My client is willing to pay handsomely, and more money the sooner a cure is found. My boss..."  
  
"Eyes Only." The stranger interrupted. The blond nodded before finishing. "My boss needs to pay the bills." The older man's knowing smile was handsome but strangely chilling, although Logan shook the reaction off as a longstanding need to have complete control over his destiny. Trusting the Pope with something this close to his heart would leave him doubting even his piety and reliability.   
  
A small uncomfortable silence fell over the duo. Logan offered his hand before asking, "What exactly is your relationship with Manticore, Mr...?"  
  
The stranger didn't see the hand at first, studying the vial of blood at eye level with open fascination; it was as if he intended to discern the secrets of the red fluid in front of their very eyes. The fascination only spurned Logan's sixth sense further but he ignored it again.  
  
"I am a scientist myself, Mr.Cale. A late colleague - a mentor, you might say - held a very influential position in Project Manticore." Only when the vial was secured in his coat pocket did the dark-eyed stranger notice the outstretched hand. Taking it in his own, they shook firmly, the older man answering the second half of the question: "Fredrickson. Dr. Leonard Johannes Fredrickson."  
  
*****  
  
"Max, you really, really shouldn't be lifting that."  
  
Grimacing silently and cursing her own stubborn nature, Max shifted her weight under the overflowing food crate slightly but didn't put it down, which was what you were supposed to do when someone told you that you were lifting an object you shouldn't. "Lift with the legs, not the back," she mumbled to herself. The muscles in her lower back sang in a happy chorus as they were relieved from their strain and the bulk of the weight settled on her much steadier legs.  
  
Several of the Seattle markets had pooled their resources and unselfishly "donated" a good three month supply of daily necessities; longer if they were rationed properly, which they undoubtedly would be. It had taken weeks of reconnaissance and night jobs to acquire the massive load of food, toiletries, even the occasional keg of beer or bottle of vodka. Logan had located a unused warehouse in a low-profile neighborhood on the edge of the Seattle city limits, and after much debate it was decided that all loot be dropped off there for temporary safe-keeping. Max had been among the skeptics of the final plan, and unlike some of her fickle supporters, she hadn't been led to believe by Alec's calm hand gestures and confident smile that all would turn out for the best. He had convinced almost everyone that moving a big load at the right time would be less risky than moving small loads during the wrong one. Max had predictably scoffed. Such a considerable amount of goods - although stolen in small quantities from countless corporations - would catch somebody's eye before they got the loot home. But in the end came the opportunity Alec had been waiting for. A riot in the opposite corner of Seattle left the perfect cover to sneak their supply out. In semi-trucks, no less.   
  
When the trucks had come in late last night Alec had hopped out of the driver's side of a semi proudly and managed to pluck Max out of the hungry masses and throw her a bold wink almost before his feet had softly clapped against the ground.   
  
Now buried under a crate of canned fruits and vegetables, Max used the spurt of indignation she'd felt at his audacity to push her long, jean-covered legs forward. She ignored Dix's unfinished warning even though he repeated it several times to her waddling back. The first few steps toward the crate's drop off were balanced enough but her leg's self-confidence began to deteriorate after the first dozen steps, and they still had half a block to go. Within ten more steps her muscles were quivering and Max cursed her weakness, willfully forgetting that not three months ago she'd awoken from a coma and found her body only halfway up to speed. Although her recovery had been sufficient considering her superwoman physiology, it wasn't like Christ himself has just told her to pick up her mat and walk. She still had a way to go.  
  
The inevitable moment came when Max felt the plastic edges of the crate slide under her fingers, slick with sweat of her exertion. She uttered a soft cry of alarm as her treasure chest tilted forward, several cans of green beans spilling across the front before dashing down the street. Thankfully she'd only dumped half the contents of her crate when a shadow fell across her strained face, proving solid when it grabbed the opposite side of the crate and steadied her loot, some stubborn cans bouncing against its chest as if they still had a chance to break free.   
  
Max didn't really notice the sudden disarray of the cans Dix had so carefully packed - apparently along with his dashing good looks he'd been blessed with a splash of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - nor the grind of metal on concrete as the green beans rolled down the incline, sweet peas and baked beans hot on their tail. Vision, hearing, even taste - she'd just spent the last ten minutes unsuccessfully ignoring what she felt had to be her worst case of morning breath ever - were temporarily put on hold, for along with the tin cans her forehead had also made contact with the shadow's chest. Only her forehead wasn't quite so eager to bounce away.   
  
At her unintentional headlong dive into its shoulder, her rescuer had let out a soft grunt, pushing breath - which smelled much better than hers at that particular moment - across her cheek. But even the feeling of the sweet tingle of gooseflesh on her neck paled in comparison to the hyperdrive her nose had flown into. Skin; slightly salty, probably from sweat. That was a definite aroma any self-respecting X5 could place blind-folded: skin. But every skin on every body smelled differently. Max normally wouldn't really care for this detail if this particular skin hadn't had such a strong effect.   
  
She knew this scent, had inhaled it deeply once, though she couldn't possibly remember when. A sense of remembrance swept through Max; the ghost of an arm around her, lips lightly pressed to her hair. Where had she smelled this before? The only person that could remotely bear a resemblance to this aroma was...Ben. Only he'd been dead by then. Inhaling deeply through her sobs, the smell of him had permeated her nose, still sweet and life-like before rigor mortis had set in. But even in life, Max had a hard time believing Ben's personal perfume had been so strong. It enclosed around her like a dense fog and would have been nauseatingly suffocating if she weren't so oddly drunk with it. It sunk into her nose and lungs, drowning her, but she didn't want to kick toward the surface. Max didn't know what she was fighting more, the urge to pull back from a scent so strong she could feel it in her stomach, or the odd temptation to inhale deeper. She knew this smell - this feeling - the memory on the tip of her nose...  
  
A voice broke her concentration. "So Doc finally agrees to let you help out with the unloading process under the strictest of instructions not to push yourself too hard and what do you do? You pass up the box of ramen noodles and spaghetti and go straight for the hard stuff."  
  
The voice was a lot more familiar than the scent, which suddenly became a stench in her nose, tinged with fear that the odor might actually be attached to a potentially intimate memory. Max jumped back suddenly and kept her head low, praying the hair that had worked its way out of her ponytail made itself useful and covered her pink cheeks. "Well you know, those halved pears in the heavy syrup will get ya every time," she quipped, trying to ignore the strangled edge her voice had taken.  
  
With her partner's help, she set the crate carefully on the ground before purposefully walking around the vicinity and collecting runaway tin cans. Only once the last dented can of sliced tomatoes was safely tucked away did Max muster the courage to look into her helper's hazel eyes, which were fixed on her with a mixture of curious concern and frustration.   
  
  
  
"Why do you do this to yourself, Max?" he asked, straightening with the crate in his arms with an ease she envied. An ease she once had, would have had if it hadn't been for her present...condition. "You know you're not ready."  
  
Alec's knowing, paternal tone set Max almost on edge as much as the walk-before-you-run spiel she was on the verge of receiving. "You know Alec, last I checked there was still a small chance that my birth mother was alive. And I really hate fire somebody I've never really met. The job's been filled, stop vying for it."  
  
The angry retort Alec could've snapped off was doomed to be too late. Ray zoomed around from behind a shopping cart of egg noodles and aluminum foil. With a running leap he flew into Max's open arms and wrapped around her like a koala in his favorite tree. Logically speaking the healing X5 should have buckled under the weight, having dropped a crate of canned goods not two minutes ago. But motherly instinct defied all logic and she accepted her new weight gladly.  
  
Ray had just tucked his head in the crook of Aunt Max's neck when he caught the glower he was receiving from Alec. "Get down now or receive the consequences," it clearly read. And in case Ray didn't get that picture he also tapped it out with his foot in Morse code. Max was too busy smelling Ray, one of her favorite pastimes, or so she claimed, to notice. Still unaware of her companions' silent battle, she echoed her favorite sentiment when engulfing Ray in any embrace: "You have the most delicious smell." Normally Ray liked the way she sniffed in his scent, making him feel like a cub with his momma, but today the it irritated as Aunt Max was chugging his scent down instead of her normal drinking him in.  
  
Ray conceded under Alec's glare, unwound his hands from Aunt Max's neck, and obediently hopped down. "I'm really getting too big for you to carry anymore, Aunt Max," he mumbled, knowing Alec was only looking out for her well-being, just like he always did. Aunt Max, of course, always read it backwards, catching the opposite message. She glared at Alec, seeming more wounded than anything else.  
  
"Here Ray," Alec said, placing the forgotten crate in the kid's shopping cart. "Do you think you could push the extra load down the block?" He pointed to the drop off point, where Mole was organizing the supplies, or more accurately, chewing out some poor X6 out on the proper military stocking of all tobacco products. "And ask Mole to calm down, will ya? He's gonna work himself into an early grave and leave me shorthanded."  
  
Sensing he'd been forgiven and given a rather important mission, Ray stomped off cheerfully, whistling some Guns 'N Roses tune Luke had taught him. She made sure he was well out of earshot before wheeling on Alec. "Did you tell him big boys don't hug or some macho bull like that?" Max asked, trying to sound more angry than hurt. It was useless. Alec saw right through the facade, but didn't acknowledge it, afraid to rouse real anger.  
  
"Give yourself sometime to recover, Max."  
  
"I've had nearly three months, Alec. I'm sick of giving myself time. I need to move, I need to breathe."   
  
  
  
That had been the birth of Alec's plan.  
  
*****  
  
Between trying to remember Ray and Alec and pushing to return to a satisfactory state of health, Max was completely, utterly bushed. So after more weeks of physical recovery and emotional beating, the first and last words she had planned/wanted to hear were, "I need you for a job."  
  
Max, who at that time had been enjoying one of the better cups of coffee she'd had in a while, proceeded to spit the hot, brown liquid in a perfect arc that landed in the middle of Dix's texts, who proceeded to storm away with a mask of disgust and coerced amusement across his face. Murmuring an apology to the hunched back rushing away, Max wheeled around in her chair. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, surprise was evident in her wide brown eyes. "What?" she asked of the enigma Alec.   
  
Over the past few weeks she'd gotten to know X5-494 better, but still wasn't sure whether she like him or not. So far it seemed to depend on the day, the mood Max was in. But while fighting a smile at a crude joke or fuming at several of his more "irresponsible" antics, she invariably felt herself drawn to him in a very unnerving fashion. Alec proved to be a complete puzzle, full of twists and turns like a riddle, and time didn't change that estimation of him. Instead of becoming another permanent attachment, practically begging and pleading for her to remember him, he faded into the background, though Max felt he was always watching her back.   
  
The passion she'd seen in him that night on the Space Needle was carefully tucked away. But the unanswered questions kept her awake at night along with shark DNA. Why had it mattered so much to him that she came back?   
  
Judging by what the other X5's who had known him before the fall of the Manticorian Reich said about him, Alec was a consummate liar, so sleek no machine could detect his fabrications, given to an unpredictable, stubborn nature Manticore had been unable to break, and a shameless flirt to boot. But all in all he was a pretty stand up guy by everyone's standards.   
  
"I. Need. You. For. A. Job." He repeated the phrase as if she were a mentally challenged four year-old, made complete by utterly ridiculous hand signs. Max tactfully ignored them, still shocked by his suggestion. Alec continued easily, not noticing Max's sudden tension. "It's simple. Get into this fancy affair some mutli-gajillionaire is throwing, steal some precious artwork, bada bing, bada boom, possibly take out some rent-a-cops with spiked stiletto heels, and you're back here."   
  
  
  
The general consensus said, all in all, the former scapegoat-turn-leader and the former leader-turned-scapegoat were getting along much better than ever before. But that didn't mean she was ready to do a job with him.  
  
  
  
"No," she responded, surprising them both. The look of incredulity on Alec's face almost made it worth forgoing the chance to get out of Terminal City for a while. He seemed floored, and not without due cause: Alec personified the charisma and authority that made people respond to the snap of his fingers. He never needed to repeat an order twice. So when Alec said, "I need you for a job," the soldier - '09 escapee or not - would be wise to at least fully hear the other transgenic out before throwing the offer in his face. 'Maybe that's why I did it,' Max mused to herself. 'He has everyone else in Terminal City wrapped around his pinky. Well he can't have me.'  
  
Alec's countenance slipped from bewilderment to annoyance. "Why not?" he asked, clenching his fists at his sides. "Do you have to wash your hair or something? What about that 'I need to move. I need to breathe' bull you were spouting a month ago." If it hadn't been for the male undertone, he would have had her voice mimicked almost perfectly, amusing several transgenics around the Command Center. Max fixed a glare on their smiling audience that they hadn't seen since the fall of Manticore. Eyes front, everyone returned to his/her/its duties.  
  
"Can't you get someone else to do it? Someone more reliable?" she bounced back, fixing her eyes back on Alec. "From what I hear when I took a little trip you were the one who had to drag me back. Are you sure you're ready to do that again? God knows I could disappear into the night again on this little 'job.'" She made finger quotes in the air, which only razzed Alec's nerves more.  
  
He scoffed without humor. "As if you'd leave your precious Ray behind."   
  
"You said I needed to get my health back."  
  
"You're not taking out the Syrian army, Max. You'll be fine. What's the real problem, Max?" He bit off, trying not to let her get under his skin. Again.   
  
"I don't feel safe with you," she responded in a sarcastic tone, belying the truth of the words. The best place to hide would be in plain sight. She couldn't decide why she felt this way, she just did. Something about this scenario rubbed her the wrong way. Max figured the truth was about as stunning as anything else, if he dug under the sarcasm and saw the truth for what it was. It worked. For the second time in the last two minutes, she had managed to render Alec temporarily speechless. Before he could recover, she asked in a bored tone, "When is the affair anyway?"  
  
Alec began to pull himself together. "Tomorrow night."  
  
Max snapped her fingers with a false sigh of regret. "Gee, that's too bad. I don't have a dress, and there really is no way I could sneak out of Terminal City, scamper all the way across town to a snooty store, steal said dress, and make it back in time without risking major tactical exposure."   
  
Under her mocking solemnity Max fervently prayed her last-ditch effort would work. Not that she wouldn't like to get out and stretch the proverbial legs with some much needed cat burglary, but the thought of playing Alec's make-believe date - an opportunity most X5 females would quite literally kill for - just made her hackles rise. 'Old intuition?' her mind mused, having heard several stories from reliable sources of her and Alec's loud, public misconducts. While Max could hardly imagine hating Alec that much - twinges of dislike, maybe; hatred, no - something still felt a little...off around him.  
  
"Nice try," Alec drawled, interrupting her musings. From behind his leather-clad back he produced a box with all the grace and show of a magician slipping a rabbit out of a top hat.  
  
Max palmed the box carefully, as if the crisp, expensive-looking package could contain a complicated trip bomb or some other lead to her ultimate demise instead of the much dreaded dress. Setting it down on a nearby table, she carefully removed the lid. Intermixed layers of white and pastel pink chiffon greeted her eyes, making her oil-tarnished inner hoyden shrink back in terror even as her softer, I-cry-at-the-occasional-wedding side appreciated the delicate beauty. Careful to keep her face neutral (leaning on repugnant), she lifted the straps of the dress and pulled the finery from the box, making sure she touched it as little as possible. Max glanced over the dress with short, precise strokes, her brown eyes holding all the passion of a vegetarian sizing up a prized ham for Christmas dinner. It was a little old-fashioned, to be sure, but had the general look that fashion critics described as a "timeless classic" on the red carpet of Pre-pulse award shows. Once she tried it on, Max had the distinct feeling she'd really like the dress.   
  
The other transgenic watched her face carefully for any signs of sparkle. He received none, barely catching the soft, "How'd you know my size?"  
  
Alec took a step closer. Now only the outstretched dress acted as a barrier between them. "I can dismantle a thermonuclear warhead in seven seconds flat with a pencil and a rubber band. This?" he said, fingering the neckline of the dress, his eyes smiling down at her. "This was cake."  
  
Both his expression and smug response rubbed her wrong. Carefully he replacing the dress in the box, she daintily closed the lid. "Then maybe you could've managed to acquire a dress that was designed sometime after Jimi Hendrix drowned in his own vomit." Throwing the box square at his chest, Max turned on one heel and stalked off, acting much more confident and aggravated than she felt. Alec just smiled at her disappearing back. She was in.  
  
She was so in.  
  
*****   
  
  
  
Thanks again for the reviews. So sorry about the delay...again. I considered trying to put the entire party fiasco in this chapter before I realized what a mistake that would be. Not only would it take longer, but I'd feel more rushed and I know I wouldn't have liked the final product one bit. 


	10. Enter Alec, Stage Right

Disclaimer: ::mimics birds from "Finding Nemo":: Mine, mine, mine, mine...  
  
Chapter 10  
  
"Max, kick your carcass outta neutral! The limo's gonna be here any minute!" Alec bellowed before returning to his pacing back and forth across the floor, occasionally checking his bowtie in the dusty window.   
  
It had taken Max even less time than Alec had accounted for to come to an executive decision. Within thirty minutes, she'd marched back into the office that had once been hers and said she'd help him on several conditions, which to sum them up basically said that Alec had to behave like a perfect gentleman. He'd agreed immediately but voiced his worry that once she saw him in his tux, she might not feel like behaving like a lady. Max had had several of unladylike phrases in response to that, and making his hands into a steeple in front of his mouth, Alec had smiled through everyone of them. Even though she'd subconsciously used her old threats and slogans, they didn't carry nearly the bite they'd once had. More generated from some unnamed emotion, which he was secretly determined to pinpoint, than her old loathing.  
  
They hadn't much time to lose. Within minutes of her acquiescence they'd snuck out of Terminal City, heading for Sandeman's old pad now squatted by one Logan Cale. Under the cover of night was the easiest time to sneak out. Perimeter security had been relatively loose before Alec had taken out Keith and volunteerism had only waned since, especially with the transgenics being so quiet lately--the Seattle Police Department was still unaware of what Alec had affectionately dubbed "Operation: Scooby Snacks." Counting a pit stop for a quick laser touch up, the transgenics had made relatively good time, safe inside Logan's within two hours.  
  
Logan hadn't been there to greet them, as it had been planned. Already knowing of Alec's escapade, he'd had left a note saying that he'd had some business that would keep him away from home base at least a couple of days, there was plenty of food in the fridge, and "for the love of all things holy, don't piss off Max at any inopportune moments." Alec had smiled at the last bit, subconsciously cherishing the tentative camaraderie he and Logan shared. Lately it was only when Max was quite literally in the picture that things grew tense between them.   
  
With a good twenty hours to kill, Alec and Max had used the time wisely, covering their game plan, major players, and the major rules and boundaries of their "game." He'd also drilled her on proper etiquette for events such as these and what to use, how to use, and when to use the proper utensils during the upcoming seven course meal. Things had gone rather well for the most part, Max learning everything at Manticorian light speed.   
  
Then Alec decided to teach Max how to waltz, or tried to actually. The problem wasn't just that Max had been in fact cursed with two left feet; all the elements had been against them at the time of the dance lesson. It had been a rainy night, as nights are wont to be in Seattle, and a brown out occurred suddenly. The lights tapered down to near nonexistence but since their battery-powered stereo remained unaffected and they had such excellent night vision, Max insisted they continue dancing until she got it right. Alec had been a splendid dancer and amazingly patient teacher until that fatal moment, but in the combination of darkness, both still damp from running around half of Seattle while it rained transgenics and transgens, and the classical music playing in the background did absolutely nothing to improve Alec's tendency to let his mind wander. He did his best to harness it and might have even proved successful if it hadn't been for Max. In her uncertainty of the steps and overcompensation for the resilient shadows, Max stepped closer to Alec than he could ever recall and his concentration was blown out of the water. Soon it wasn't her stepping on Alec's feet, but him on hers, and his was the offending forehead reaching for hers. But that wasn't all his face had wanted to reach for...  
  
He'd pushed her away suddenly in near violence, saying she was doing well enough and "shouldn't we be getting some rest now? It's nearly three-thirty in the morning." Perplexed but reining in her curiosity, Max had left him curled on the couch. It wasn't right for him to be thinking such things, for even if she had the slightest clue about his wayward thoughts before her amnesia, she sure as Manticore puts the "Man" in any soldier didn't now. After tossing and turning for several minutes, Alec had fallen asleep to the soft patter of feet through the ceiling and the sinusoidal echo of "one, two, three" as Max continued her dance lesson on her own upstairs in Joshua's old bedroom.   
  
He'd awoken the next morning to the sound of ham frying in the kitchen. Having rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, as even transgenics were prone to getting, Alec had blindly wandered toward the kitchen and the smell of meat, holding up the sweatpants--judging by their fit on his lean frame, had formerly belonged to Joshua and not Logan--as he went.   
  
Max hadn't heard him coming, her multitasking brain too absorbed in reviewing for tonight's proceedings, cooking breakfast, and humming some tune Ray had taught her long ago, subliminally planted in her memory. She too, had been clad in borrowed attire, wearing a pair of Logan's basketball shorts that had hung to her knees even when the strings were secured as tightly as superhumanly possible around her size three waist, and a XXL white T-shirt that had seen better days covering all they way to her butt. 'Or maybe it hadn't seen better days,' an inner voice had chirped, letting on far more than his face would about how arresting Max truly had looked. Her thick, dark hair slapped up into that sloppy half-pony tail, half-bun thingy women always did hadn't exactly hurt her overall appearance either.  
  
When she had finally noticed him mid-bar, Alec had made some inane mark about her being a couple of rugrats dangling from around her ankles and a pregnant belly away from looking like "White Trash Woman of the Week" with only half of his brain. The other half had been dually focused on her half-scoff, half-laugh in response and the shape of her bare calves, which thankfully Max had been too focused on her frying eggs to have seen. Sure she was of Manticore's mold, and nothing less than a nice pair of legs were to be expected, but Alec had just realized how rare it was to see those twins--seeing as Max never really wore shorts--and his mind decided to save up the image for a rainy day, or another rainy night.  
  
Breakfast had passed in relative companionship, once Alec had resigned himself to eating green eggs--Max had added the food coloring she'd found on a shelf, "Green Eggs and Ham" by Dr. Seuss having been the first book she'd read cover to cover after her and her siblings' personal Declaration of Independence from Manticore. She had told him of her finding the book on a bus in Sacramento, California and how it had stayed with her for months before losing during a drug raid at a foster home. Alec in turn had confessed that the first book he'd read from cover to cover since freedom bells started a chimin'--if one didn't count Calvin and Hobbes--had yet to be discovered. Post-pulse BET, on the other hand, he'd come across almost instantly. Max had rolled her eyes at his TV dependency and asked if they should find him a twelve step program, and Alec had seriously replied that he could stop anytime he wanted to. The two had shared a smile.  
  
After more drilling and a light lunch, Max and Alec had disappeared into their separate wings to get ready. That was more than two hours ago...  
  
A knock on the door stopped Alec's trip down short-term memory lane, and he made his way across the room to answer it. An Italian guy in his early thirties stood on the porch patiently, wearing the black button down shirt and black slacks in uniform to the international dress code of limo drivers everywhere, completed by his clean-cut black hair covered by a black hat that looked like it couldn't decide whether it was from the Civil War era or a baseball cap. Or so Alec had always thought.  
  
It was beginning to rain again. Inviting the driver in, Alec had barely shut the door behind the other man before wheeling around on one foot and calling up the stairs for the sixth time in two minutes. He whistled through his teeth and called up stairs, "Here, Maxie, Maxie, Maxie. You want to go for a ride don't you?" He patted his Armani covered thigh like he was calling a stubborn or timid dog.  
  
"I'm coming you lousy son of a..."  
  
"Tsk, tsk, Max! Don't use such foul language in front of our company. We wouldn't want to assail our poor driver's ears," he yelled back, followed up with some choice words against the female population in general, pitched only loud enough for himself--and judging by his ill-concealed smirk, the driver--to hear. He misjudged the volume. "I heard that!"  
  
Alec rolled his eyes, mouthing the word "women" in exasperation to their driver, who'd by now introduced himself as Chris. Becoming more and more impatient, calculating the time they'd have to spend in rush hour traffic due to the fact that his "date's" ETA from the upstairs to the downstairs had obviously met some unexpected complications, Alec began to bounce lightly on his feet. Sensing the interesting one-man show he was throwing for Chris, he decided to fine-tune his fidgeting from his feet to his fingers, and commenced retying that blasted bowtie for the millionth time, still not satisfied with the final product.  
  
"I'm tellin' ya, buddy, I'm an atheist at heart, seeing as my family wasn't to big on church and stuff. But if I ever converted to believing in Higher Powers it would be based solely on the fact that bowties and the gentler sex's time to ready itself have got to be living proof of demonic powers," Alec said, ripping the bowtie apart again and starting from scratch with impatient, long fingers. How in the name of GQ magazine can fingers be trained from birth to kill with a paperclip and still not understand the intricate weavings of a bowtie?  
  
"I hear ya," Chris nodded empathetically, not feeling the need to be professionally reserved as his line of work tended to call for. He had decided he liked his client almost immediately. Mr. McDowell, or so his assignment sheet called him, was beautiful and aware of it, though he wasn't conceited by any means, and wore his beauty as easily as a butterfly her wings. It was as if Mr. McDowell was aware that something, Higher Powers or simple genetic heredity, had blessed him with good looks and he couldn't have created them himself anymore than grass deciding to make itself a healthy, rich shade of green. His eyes struck Chris the deepest, rendering Alec immortal in him memory. The hazel orbs were scarred and older than their years yet had the understanding air that life was more than pain. These eyes would be able to delight in joy all the more because they comprehended the purest of pains.  
  
"Max!"  
  
"I'm coming!" A female voice rang down the stairs like thunder in her own impatience.  
  
"You've been saying that for forty-five minutes!"  
  
"Oh, are you getting bored? How about I shake it up for you: I'm NOT coming!"  
  
"Funny!"  
  
"I'm putting my heels on even as we bellow! By the way, I've decided you male bastards designed these things specifically for use of torture devices for females hundreds of years down the road."  
  
There was a silence on both ends of the line, both hanging up for a moment. Alec resumed his circular tour of the living room, not trusting himself to even come within view of the stairs, knowing he was three seconds away from bounding up them and banging down the door to Joshua's old room. She was getting under his skin again.  
  
Then there came a smaller, less confident voice from the top of the stairs, no longer muffled by the oak door barricading him from the bedroom. "Alec, you can't laugh."  
  
Alec stopped mid-stride and pivoted on one foot towards the stairs. "What?" These were the last words he'd been expecting Max to say tonight--next to saying she'd fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with him--so he wasn't quite sure he'd heard right.  
  
"You can't laugh. You have to promise me you won't laugh."  
  
"Alright, I promise you won't laugh."  
  
"Alec!" Shrill desperation took over her voice.  
  
"Alright, alright. Chris thought it was funny anyway."  
  
"Is Chris wearing a dress?" Alec looked over to their changed topic thoughtfully, eyeing him from head to toe as if he wasn't quite sure, even though he already knew Chris had a 9mm tucked in the back of his pants, probably by the order of his company. "No," he finally responded.  
  
"Promise me."  
  
"Alright already. I promise. Scout's honor. Cross my heart and hope to die. May lightening strike me. No fingers crossed. If I do, I'll die 'til I'm dead. Are you satisfied yet?"  
  
"You promise what?"  
  
"Oh for the love of...I PROMISE I WON'T LAUGH!"  
  
Such a silence rang through the house that Chris forgot to laugh, afraid such a roar had indeed frightened Mr. McDowell's poor date right back up those stairs for good. He listened for the slamming of a bedroom door and was relieved to hear none, not realizing that Max's own temper--made meek by sheer fear of embarrassment--had risen in direct proportion to Alec's, giving her the gumption to take those final steps into full view.  
  
Max worries were completely founded. It wasn't like she looked radiant or anything, the soft pink layers of her dress only accenting the rich tan of her skin. It wasn't like her hair looked perfect, the loops and twists of the tresses pulled into hairdo that looked amazingly understated, belying the forty-five minutes she must have spent on her mane alone. It wasn't like she looked like an angel, that most beings, these two men included, were amazed that such an epitome of grace and magnetism and everything good could transform from a celestial essence into a living, breathing body with feet now touching the same floor their unworthy ones had crossed only moments before.   
  
It wasn't like Alec forgot to breathe, or his heart skipped so many beats he would have been in critical condition if not for his Manticorian physiology.   
  
Alec remained painfully silent in trying to revive his limp tongue to its usual hustle.  
  
Chris was shocked at her beauty rivaling Mr. McDowell's, which also carried that air of maturity, a pain and healing in a similar vein to Alec's, making it all the more rare and precious. Chris found himself amazed at these two beings who radiated so many emotions, such a strong passion that he instinctively knew they always did their utmost to bar it behind their eyes. But even hiding that fervor inside themselves was as useless as putting on sunglasses and staring into the sun, for they dimmed the objects around it far more than they could ever hope to dim the glare of the light itself, only making it shine brighter and truer.  
  
Alec finally managed enough movement in his upper torso to clear his throat raggedly. "You look...nice." Chris' jaw dropped at Mr. McDowell's vast understatement, even as Alec resisted the strong urge to smack himself silly.   
  
Max smiled in appreciation of Alec's lack of a sarcastic color commentary, not realizing her sweet flash of teeth was giving her poor "date" palpitations so strong he thought she'd see pounding through his tuxedo. The silence in between her appearing before him and his first words had frayed her nerves at the edges though, thinking he silence had been just a precursor to the torrent of jokes at her expense.   
  
She'd really tried her best to look nice for tonight--which proved even harder than it had a couple years ago in Jam Pony's ladies' room before Logan's cousin's wedding, particularly without Original Cindy's advice and well-meant wisecracks to take off Max's nervous edge--and seemed to have triumphed. She'd redone her hair countless times, one curl out of place making her tear down the entire art form before starting again, and must have done her makeup seventeen different ways from Tuesday before deciding to stick with what she new best: a hint of blush here, a touch of eye shadow there, some cherry lip balm and a girl was good to go. God only knows why she'd gone to the trouble, at least He'd better, someone should after the two straight hours of fretting, and she knew she wasn't that person. Max hadn't had such a case of nerves since water solos back at her first home. If her seizures hadn't been fixed before the fall of Manticore she'd throw some extra Tryptophan in her purse, her brain chemistry had to be suffering from the stress.  
  
Max tried not to let herself be disappointed by Alec's appraisal either. She'd tried to look nice and she succeeded; no more, no less. She contented herself on the scrap Alec threw her. 'Any beauty coming from an X5 series is to be expected and not complimented on,' the soldier inside herself said. He probably saw as much "action" these days as a soldier in 'Nam, one girl in a dress wouldn't be too impressive anyway.  
  
"You don't clean up too bad yourself," she said. Milking the friendship blossoming between them for all its worth she added, "You look fantastic." Alec smiled in response, laced with an unusual nervousness that made him painfully resemble a guy trying to get his date to the prom--the unusual sight of him in a tuxedo wasn't hurting the image--and Max felt her stomach flip over.  
  
"Thanks," he muttered softly, smiling in a way only Max could fully understand, but a forgotten Chris could guess a rough translation from. Remembering his place he laced his arm within hers, the illusion complete in more ways than one. "You ready?"  
  
"I'd better be, seeing as you've spent the last hour screaming up the stairs. You're not one to talk anyway," she chastised, fingering the flaccid ends of the unraveled bowtie with arched eyebrows. She did it up quickly trying to ignore the chance brush of her hand against his chin or throat, but her trembling fingers didn't seem to get the memo. "There, all done." Alec turned toward the window, saw the exact tie he'd been trying to find all evening. It was perfect. "Thanks again."  
  
On the topic of the bowtie, Chris was the only unbiased opinion in the room, although he had the feeling the black girl blindly eyeing him from a nearby painting would agree with him: it looked exactly the same as it had the other seven times Alec had done it since his arrival.   
  
*****  
  
The house, although manor or palace would have described it better, hosting their illicit soiree was staged back from the street a great distance, as if to draw more attention to itself instead of backing away with shyness. The entire castle montage was completed by a long driveway that wound around a fountain whose sheer size would have made the monument tawdry if it wasn't for the graceful arcs of water spouting from several outlets, grasping the soft yellow and white lights before splashing into the shallow pool.   
  
The rain had tapered off long enough for Max to catch some much needed fresh air, as opposed to the barrage her senses were under from so many designer perfumes crowded inside. But as her eyes switched from the blare of crystal chandeliers and reacclimated themselves with the front lawn, something had caught her attention.  
  
Needless to say, Max found herself impressed, albeit against her will. Although it wasn't the spacious perfectly manicured green lawns lined by the massive intertwining of rare and imported flowers, looking both carefully designed while staying true to their ethereal and untamed roots, that caught her attention. Nor was it the Parthenon columns or the valets more lavishly adorned than several of the well-off businessmen she'd made a habit of stealing from. All of these details escaped her notice, her mind focused on one sole enigma.  
  
"How in the world did they get security cameras inside the fountain?"  
  
A voice behind her responded to the question she wasn't even aware of posing aloud. "I'm not quite sure, Miss Wall. In fact, I think it's safe to say that the majority of our staff are blissfully unaware of their existence, which is how I figure Mr. Hawkins prefers it. You're quite observant." The shock of being caught off-guard and the irritability of knowing better, left her eyebrows tightly knit and her full lips drooping when she turned around and faced her potential mark.   
  
The stranger behind her was well-dressed in his dark suit, but had the bearing of a butler or some other hired help. Politely cordial without being too friendly, his demeanor was quite the contrast from several minutes ago, when she and Alec had met him on the threshold of this shindig. While their attire would blend in perfectly at Logan's family bashes, this was an event, and their manner of dress was definitely subpar according to the doorman's standards. The decisive sniff he made at Max had been overlooked by her with unusual grace, not realizing her "date" had barely resisted the urge to throw his fist through the other man's face.  
  
Max was not about to deal with anymore phony chitchat from anybody. No to mention that her cover, Isadora Wall--a name Alec had found rather amusing--wasn't about to except imitation compliments from the hired help. Stepping on the other side of the cliched tracks, Max crossed her arms over her chest, letting her scowl deepen. "What do you want?"  
  
The doorman was taken aback by her blunt disfavor, which only confirmed his suspicions that this dazzling young women before him was new money, not bred and trained in social airs. Or she was just a bitch in princess' clothing. But being the ever professional, Mr. Hobbes didn't let one syllable of his inner monologue bleed through the pallid skin of his weathered face. "Dinner is served."  
  
*****  
  
The dining room was even more impressive than the front lawns. It was every interior decorator's dream. The room itself was cavernous and decorated to perfection: filled with just enough furnishings to keep the place from looking sparse, and with enough homey touches to keep the formality of the banqueting hall from bordering on starched, like so many of the guests surrounding Max at the moment. They eyed her with open speculation and whispered behind their finely manicured hands, whether French-tipped fingernails on the ladies or more rounded nails on the gentlemen.   
  
Max bore their curiosity with the appropriate bored air, only making direct eye contact with a frightened maid, who was thoroughly being bawled out by an obese female whose wide face was made only more insipid by the preposterous hat dangling off of her gray hair. The hat--a garish sideshow of feathers and lace--was either fingering the pulse of more eccentric fashion statement or a victim of a bad ecstasy trip. The dress wasn't much better.   
  
A small crowd was beginning to form around them, the mini-drama proving even more colorful than the pending seven-course dinner, and the hired help shrank into herself. Resisting the urge to throw elbows, Max carried herself through the crowd towards the poor maid with feline grace that seemed fairy-like trapped inside her rustling, pink hued dress. Sensing her presence, a sliver of circle developing around the spectacle opened and closed behind her like a series of doors in hallway. As she drew closer, the muttered apologies of the maid grew muted under the droning blare of her accuser, whose precise pitch made Max's inner eardrum squeal.   
  
"...and I will make absolutely sure that you'll never find work in this city again. You won't even be able to work a grease pit for French fries, you sniveling little wetback!"  
  
"Is there a problem?" Max asked calmly, now fully inside the bull's ring. Several of the spectators turned to her in surprise, some just now noticing her presence and others gawking at her show of gumption in the face of such ire.  
  
The accuser--who Max realized wasn't as heavy-set as she had seemed but had made the grave mistake of trying to fit into a dress half her size--wheeled around. Mrs. Cole, so the accuser was called, let her hawkish green eyes coolly take in the woman interrupting her rant. She was young, not even half her age, but carried herself with a certain strength of sensibleness, one the accuser herself had yet to acquire. The girl was pretty, quite beautiful actually when one looked past the overly plump lips, but those eyes! Their cool brown irises were frozen chocolate, calculating Mrs. Cole's every move, so insightful that the older woman felt the need to explain herself for fear of being made a fool in front of so many important acquaintances.  
  
"This cretin nearly ruined my dress with her carelessness!" Mrs. Cole explained haughtily, pointing to the tell-tale evidence of a broken champagne flute next to her feet, its precious liquid so rare in Post-pulse society moving in a slow puddle around her feet. Her exclamation was pitched just loud enough to catch the attention of nearly every guest in the mansion, and those who'd overlooked the spectacle before now turned with avidly interested eyes. A silence swept out from their circle across the entire floor, the epicenter of an earthquake moving across this small, white-collar city.  
  
Max nodded with enough false sympathy to seem understanding without overdoing it and making herself gag. "Hmm. That would be quite the dilemma." She spared a quick glance towards the maid eyeing her in open terror, sending her a quick wink under her dark eyelashes and a slight grin. Turning her attention back to Mrs. Cole, she assessed the nearly victimized dress. She continued evenly, "That would be a shame, for such intricate stitching is rare to be found. This dress was handmade, was it not?"  
  
Mrs. Cole fairly brightened under the observation, the well-worded compliment. Only the richest could afford something so lavish as a handmade dress this day in age. This was the way she was used to being addressed, easily complimented and coveted for her wealth, and Mrs. Cole returned to a more amiable state. She touched the dress slightly as if it were a subconscious gesture, when in all actuality it was a deliberate attempt to attract attention from those who could see her. Her sharp ears were pleased to hear a murmur of appreciation among the ladies. "Yes," she responded, pride lacing her faintly nasal tone. "It was an original Julian Berrini, imported from Italy." The murmur grew louder, for the young and passionate gift of Julian Berrini had made quite the name for itself in recent years, though he normally catered solely to royal families.  
  
"Well, take away my trust fund. A Berrini!" Max cooed, dripping with saccharine sweetness. "But then again, I just read in a newspaper somewhere that Berrini's recent fame had become tarnished and his companies were seized last night after they found he'd still been using sweatshops in Indonesia, which were banned under the United Nation's Worldwide Labor Act back in 2015. So some poor fifty-pound ten year-old whose fingers were the perfect size for such tiny stitches lost her eyesight in some dimly lit, under-ventilated sweatshop, developing asthma after prolonged exposure to the dusty and inhospitable environment, working a twenty hour day so you could pay some overstuffed, white-collar, Post-Pulse Mussolini of the fashion world thousands of dollars for a dress at least three sizes too small that same poor kid will barely see two dollars of, which will subsequently go directly to buying inadequate amounts of stale food for the rest of her twenty person, malnourished family. I'm glad to see you've done your part for humanity."  
  
Mrs. Cole had been basking under the glow of finally being the attention of a party--her queer eyes and mousy, freckled face never was a real big hit with the teenyboppers of her era--up until "Miss Wall's" impromptu speech. She now blanched under the attention, her eyes sticking out like two marbles in a bowl of milk, as aware of every freckle that failed to fade with age from her face as much as every pair of eyes that settled on her. Her sharp ears now heard every cricket's song in the background, before the general hubbub recovered from this sharp-tongued idealist's onslaught, and suddenly decided to make a mass exodus towards dinner table. With a strong sniff and a pulverizing glare, Mrs. Cole turned on one heel and marched off, every click of her high heels grinding under the pressure of wounded, self-righteous pride.   
  
As the crowd dispersed, Max closed the final gap between herself and the maid, who now just recovered her senses enough to start grabbing the broken champagne flute from the floor. She was young, Hispanic by descent and naturally moreno--dark-eyed and haired--not unlike Max herself. The girl was still quivering with the rush of the moment and lost control of her tray filled with crystal shards. Max's reflexes grabbed the tray before it could hit the floor and spill the shards again. Crouching down, she held the tray obligingly until the girl was satisfied the floor was free, all shards corralled on the silver tray. 'Real silver. Handcrafted, probably from Spain. I could fence this for at least 6 grand,' she estimated.   
  
"Thank you so much," the girl said in rush, a soft Puerto Rican accent lilting in the words. "I don't know what I would've done, or even what I'm going to do now. Mr. Salino had taken a big chance in hiring me, and I just know he's going to fire me after this."  
  
"Hey, no problem. I'll even put a good word in with your boss, as away of saying thanks."  
  
"Thanks? Why are you thanking me?"  
  
  
  
"These hoity-toity, rich punks need to be brought down a peg or two once in awhile," she answered honestly. 'Too bad you're supposed to be playing one,' she chastised herself, watching the maid's nearly black irises widen even further as "Miss Wall" denounced people of her own social class.   
  
"But you're one of them." Catching her slip up, the maid blushed through her tan skin, mentally kissing this job goodbye. "I mean, I..."  
  
Max straightened elegantly, handing the tray back to the girl. "What's your name?"  
  
"Maria De la Cruz." If there was anything she'd learned since her illegal arrival in America a little over a year ago--although legality wasn't a real issue seeing as the United States border policy had switched from on to off with the lights of the Pulse--it was that when someone asked for your name in this kind of situation it was as good as being fired.   
  
"A very pretty name. Actually, I myself am kind of what you'd call 'new money.' Same old story: an impossibly rich, miser aunt I'd never met kicks the bucket and leaves her favorite sister's only daughter the whole of her estate. Up until a few months ago, I was working a messenger service and squatting, just another girl tryin' to make ends meet." Well, it was partially true anyway. "And now the only way I know I'm going to get through this bitch tonight is by not being intimidated by these money-grubbing slugs. I'm terrible at holding my tongue. Some people are addicted to cigarettes, I'm addicted to speaking my mind."   
  
  
  
"The evening has only started," Maria said.  
  
"I know. I don't think I'm going to make it. Do you know the worst part so far though, Maria?" The other girl shook her head, her black bangs raking back and forth across her forehead like a wispy, unbalanced crown.   
  
"The worst part is knowing that our Mrs. Cole had to have put down at least 35 G's for that dress and didn't even bother putting on control top pantyhose." That statement and the sad little "tsks" following shocked a laugh out of Maria, and before she fell asleep after coming off her shift that night, her last coherent thought was of a dolled up fellow girl of the hood who'd saved her job.  
  
*****  
  
  
  
A hand reached around Max and grasped the back of her chair before Max could, pulling it out for her gallantly. "You're late," she chastised lightly, not even averting her eyes from the table and the family of forks and spoons on either side of her plate. Dinner wafted in from the kitchen Max surmised was behind the cherry oak door on the other side of room, and that particular scent on her empty stomach and the flavor of her date's cologne made her feel quite heady.  
  
"Sorry," Alec whispered back without any true remorse. "The rounds took longer than I'd planned for. I nearly met up with a security guard in a very restricted area and had to wait him out while he did his rounds." Alec grimaced slightly, remembering the half hour he'd spent in hiding. "Air duct lint is hell on Armani tuxedos."  
  
"What kind of house needs air ducts that big?" Max wondered aloud, sitting down gently. A full grown man, tampered DNA or not, would find it very difficult fitting into the air ducts she was used to.  
  
"Have you seen the size of this place, Max?" He asked, pulling a chair out for himself. "I think it was a museum in its former life."  
  
Mr. Anthony Hawkins, the host of their gala, stood at the end of one of the two tables that ran down the length of the dining room, designed to hold the sixty or so guests there that night. While Mr. Hawkins expressed the customary bullcrap about his pleasure at each and every guest's attendance, Alec leaned over to Max. "What's the lowdown on this palace's ground floor?"  
  
"Security has been doubled for tonight's festivities," Max said, but her date's attention had already began to meander amongst the others at their table. Taking every opportunity to play the handsome cad, Alec roguishly winked at solidly built, pre-menopausal woman sitting directly across the table. The woman blushed with the innocent flirtatiousness of a school girl, deepening the rouge she'd caked on to a more natural level. Alec smiled charmingly at with his mission accomplished but it turned into a slight grimace as Max's stiletto heel found his toes and brought him back to more important matters. He'd roped her into this after all, the least he could do was pay attention. Max continued over the grunt and heavy glower he threw in her direction. "The west wing is about as safe to walk through as the beaches of Normandy: thermal scanners, movement sensors, the works. There is a door at the end of corridor number three designed almost perfectly to blend into the wall, which if the blue prints Logan as drew up are right, is the main security room. Now the way I see it..."   
  
Alec interrupted her. "See, that's what I don't get about rich people. Why would anybody buy an art piece only to spend twice the money after that for security and to hide said security in a separate room?"  
  
"Uh, Alec? Would you look at your place setting? The pure silver and 20 karat gold inlay on fine china plates alone is worth seven or eight grand for a set, more if the inflation rates on the big B.M. are working for ya. Reality check: money is no object for these people."  
  
"That's another thing. Why is money no object? It technically is an object whether you got it hanging out the can or not. It comes in coins, bills, checks, the 401K plans of the past, stock portfolios..."  
  
"Alec?"  
  
"Yeah, Max?"  
  
"Shut up. Have you always talked this much?" In the back of her mind, she remembered somebody mentioning something about Alec being a "yapper," or at least that's what echoed in her memory fogged brain. She was so absorbed in the twinges of a memory that she completely missed his next comment.   
  
Alec answered shamelessly and somewhat absently seeing as he'd re-ignited his flirtations with the woman across the table who was nearly old enough to be his mother. "It's another genetic defect of mine. Thanks to X5-493's altered DNA I'm not only prone to psychotic breaks and serial murder but I was also born without an inner monologue."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Alec rolled his eyes. He would waste a comeback on her. "Nothing."  
  
They then lapsed into a truce of sorts for the first several courses of the long and tedious dinner, verbal parry and thrusts put aside for matters of state.   
  
It had been decided early on that Alec would do the majority of the hands-on work he preferred. He loved the rush of the unhurried descent through a skylight on a sleek black rope--after spending agonizing hours whittling down his favorite tools to the bare necessities, the transgenic had managed to cram everything into a briefcase--almost more than the feel of crisp, green bills lining his pockets. Only two small items were to be taken, it'd be damn near impossible to sneak out something the size of the Venus de Milo. Alec's one and only target was a hefty diamond whose popularity was on par with the fictional "Pink Panther."  
  
Max had elected to play his mole, feeding him information--through rather unreliable but completely invisible earpieces donated by Dix--on guard changes and when which alarms were being armed, deactivated, and then rearmed as elite personnel checked the corridors by hand. The boss didn't seem to have to much faith in technology these days, though given the physical capabilities of these two cat burglars, guards weren't too reliable either. Max had flatly said her maneuvering around alarms in black, skin-tight cat suits was one thing, a pink frilly dress was quite another. They were more prone to gravity's pull and setting of an alarm at an inopportune moment.   
  
"You could just traipse up and down the halls naked," Alec countered, taking one too many beats to reflect on the image. Max didn't even notice, distracted by the words "please tell me you're gonna get naked" ringing back and forth across her brain in a tone of voice strikingly similar to Alec's.   
  
"Speaking of getting naked," he rumbled next, tipping his head down the table. A well-endowed, Shirley Temple-headed maid was busy retrieving plates from the man next sitting on Max's opposite side. Her plates' proprietor's age was looming towards fifty-five like his belly was looming over his leather belt. Like his hand was looming dangerously over the maid's thigh. The girl's eyes widened, not in surprise as much as contemplation, trying to figure any way out from under his cracked fingers without causing a scene that would inevitably be turned around and cost her job.   
  
Too swift for human eyes to see, Alec grabbed the salad fork he'd insisted on keeping when a maid did her earlier rounds, leaned behind Max's chair, and struck the would-be assailant's wrist; a flick designed sharply enough to catch shock and undivided attention without causing bruising. Alec addressed the shocked man with as much respect as he deemed deserving: "Show some respect, man. The girl could be your niece, you backwater inbreed."  
  
Alec slipped back upright and to his meal again with Manticorian hustle, leaving both man and maid wondering if the whole scene really did happen. They both turned to the girl next to him, dressed in pink chiffon, but her coffee brown eyes gave away nothing more than a mirror would: a reflection of their own stupefied faces. Only Alec's knowing smile around his spoon as he stared straight ahead was any creditable evidence, the guests around them were still heavily ingratiated in their conversations of stock portfolios and personal masseuses. It had been a pause in time only the four of them were privy to.   
  
The maid finished grabbing the plate. The man muttered something unintelligible, probably an apology. Max turned on Alec, suddenly angry at him and not knowing why.   
  
"What?" he asked, finally turning several moments after the boring glare began to wear on his nerves.  
  
"I could ask you the same thing."  
  
"What? You mean that?" Alec asked, swirling one finger toward the scene of the crime with all the offhandedness of suicidal serial killer pointing out damning evidence.  
  
"Yes. That. What was that all about?" Some dark green, unnamed emotion charged in like high tide, turning a very pretty shade of cherry Max's blood and flushing through her softly-curved cheeks.  
  
"Damsel in distress, Max," he said matter-of-factly with a shrug. "You claim to be literate, didn't you happen across one of those in your Dr. Seuss/Disney books?"  
  
Max's jaw opened and shut, suddenly free of any witty retorts. He charged on at her rare silence. "And don't even get on me for defending the working class rights. I heard your whole case of Berrini Mussolini Cavetelli Spaghetti vs. The United Nations Labor Movement. I nearly pissed my pants smothering my laughter in the air vent and the guard's backside was bare inches and metal grating away from my face."   
  
"All I'm asking for is a little consistency," Max explained. "You play the flirtatious jerk for the woman who could very well be your surrogate mother, then you're some late-blooming knight in starched Armani for the hired hand."  
  
"I'm giving them what they want, Max." The quick answer wasn't what she was looking for if glares were any indication, so he expanded his explanation. "Once you reach menopause in the upper crust where the biggest news is whose mistress got the matching bra and BMW set, you could use a little of that slightly lower-class cad across the crystal goblets to liven the spirits. Her, on the other hand," he said, pointing offhandedly to the maid he'd so gallantly rescued from near non-consensual groping. (Max thought she had a little too much switch in her hips, having not been nearly so bouncy before meeting her "knight.") "After working long, thankless hours toting champagne in those heels for these stuffed shirts, a girl could use a little rescuing."  
  
"And what would you do if I told you the same foe you'd just saved fair damsel from has been groping my thigh all night?"  
  
He'd shoved his spoon through the guy's trachea, that's what he'd do. But it wasn't what came out. Without so much as batting an eyelash, he deadpanned, "Max, you're notorious for your quick punch and quicker temper. If you can't find a way to take care of a suit overdosed on Viagra, you're screwed."   
  
He paused for a moment, leaning back in the corner of his chair, spoon laying indolently across his lips, eyeing Max as if he'd was truly seeing her for the first time. Max squirmed a bit under his soul-reading stare. True to any girl's first instinct, she touched her hair lightly and brushed her hand against the side of her mouth, wondering if a curl fell or if her silk napkin failed to remove part of course number six from her cheek.   
  
"You're jealous," he said after a pregnant pause, the mere idea sending an unwanted thrill across his barcode and down his spine as if a stray bolt of lightening from the increasing rage outside had slipped through the window unnoticed and struck the base of his skull.  
  
"Yeah," Max scoffed. Or tried to, it felt more like she was choking. "And before the siege of Terminal City, Normal and I were a passionate couple."  
  
"Ugh, the imagery," Alec said, pretending to gag.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Oh, yeah. There's your rapier wit I know and love." Both transgenics paused at the end of his comment, afraid to look at each other, a tension crackling between their hands. Then down the table a fork scraped loudly against fine china, breaking the trance. 


	11. Exit Logan, Stage Left

Disclaimer: Still not mine.  
  
A/N: Chapters 10 and 11 were written as one chapter but I decided for time's sake to split the two up, make it easier on those still reading this story. Thank you for waiting.  
  
Chapter 11  
  
The dinner had felt like a mission in and of itself, and proved to be such a long one that Alec's survival instincts would have been screaming at him to store up food and water for rationing if his plate and flute hadn't been so constantly attended to. Once that painful ordeal was over, he mingled among the natives for awhile, straying from his date when a female admirer--young or old--would ask for a waltz, or slipping off to check the latest updates in security patterns since Logan's specifics, while important, had left a few holes.   
  
Within two hours he had the entire floor plan of the "art department" memorized, including the trimmings of all sorts of motions sensors despite being continually interrupted by the need to make another appearance in the crowd, or check in with Max--those earpieces kept fizzing out at all the wrong moments. Plus being gone too long would make the admirers he'd so unwisely collected suspicious. And any suspicion at this point in the game couldn't prove wise.   
  
Under the alias Paul Altman, Alec whisked lady after lady across the dance floor with a combination of feline grace and sheer athleticism, making polite chitchat and playful innuendo on whichever forgotten wife or girlfriend subconsciously came to him in dire need of an ego boost. He saw the good in each and every female he danced with, and commented on it without sounding insincere or over-the-top. "Such a handsome young man. He must be of good stock with those cordial manners," the elder ladies commented to each other, having not come across such a friendliness since the fall of the American Empire, where now every good-looking young man was running a scam. The girls within his timeframe had less to say about his moral fiber than they did about his physical attributes, in choice phrases young ladies of substance really shouldn't use in polite public.   
  
But one thought arose in the group of women and passed from circle to circle until the ballroom fairly rang with one sentiment: "Too bad about his date."  
  
Miss Isadora Wall's contempt of all things rich and glamorous reflected on her pretty face, the cold laser beam of her eye searing all the superficial happiness of whatever unfortunate circle of girls she'd deemed her next injured party. Even in such a sour mood, Max realized the source of her anger wasn't really these political pigeons' faults. Her malice really focused on the two people in the room she flatly refused to look at: "Mr. Paul Altman" and Mr. Anthony Hawkins Jr.  
  
Mr. Altman's display of wooing the gaggle of women at this event was downright stomach turning, though Max refused admit why. It was no matter how the temptation to be so nipped at her heels, following her across the dance floor every step, she refused to feel it or admit it. But jealousy, like so many emotions, was felt even when unwelcome and unnamed. It was no help to the situation that Alec perfectly balanced his time between casing the place, playing the charming date, and charming everybody else's date. If she could just yell at him for doing something wrong she could ease the tension between her shoulders, but he hadn't had slipped up yet. The tension kept mounting, only stretched more taut as he kept being so damned perfect for them, until she thought her shoulder blades would snap and burst from under the sinews of muscle and skin holding them in, flying across either side of the ballroom like buckshot frisbees.   
  
Mr. Anthony "Tony" Hawkins, Jr. she found to be almost equally appealing...  
  
*****  
  
Anthony Hawkins, Sr. was the typical rags-to-riches story with a slight twist. Born to a farmer and his wife somewhere in the Midwest, he showed a high aptitude from an early age for almost any subject he could get his hands on. An AP scholar, he graduated in the top 1% of his class and planning to major in science, he'd been offered a full ride to Iowa State University. Within another four years, he'd graduated with dual-majors in business and biochemistry plus a minor in Spanish. He'd moved out to Seattle within a few years with every intention of joining up with an entrepreneurship a cousin had started, but it filed for bankruptcy even before his feet touched Washington soil.   
  
Hawkins' innovative ideas and strong background in science won him a desk job at an up-and-coming pharmaceutical company stationed in Seattle. His Spanish, strengthened by a two-year stint in Mexico with the Peace Corps, almost instantly had him changing from being someone's lackey to being the president and owner's personal translator, for the company dealt mostly with Spanish-speaking countries. He was eventually promoted to a vice-presidency and when the owner died at 77 from a stroke, he left the whole of his estate--including the company and a ten figure existence--to the son he'd never had.  
  
Hawkins married his high school sweetheart at the age of twenty-two and within a year she gave him a son, who was determined to be the bane of Max's existence at tonight's event...  
  
*****  
  
It had started out innocently enough. Polite introductions, a knowing insinuation here or there that Max had been willing to overlook. Playing the ice queen from the get-go, instead of pushing everyone away, she'd been disappointed to find that her polite disinterest made the men flock to her even more. What was it men found so fascinating about a girl who had enough sense to know that hoards of money didn't make up for a lack of any personality?   
  
Then she met Tony, a first-class debonair socialite with as many finer points of a personality as a dead moth. He was gorgeous, of course, with sun-kissed skin and sparkling brown eyes crowned by dark eyebrows matching his black hair. The strong physique wasn't as lithe as Alec's, more powerfully built in a Zack-like way, but it only heightened his natural poise instead of making him awkward as he fluttered from circle to circle of admiring female socialites. He was charismatic, and several poor singles had to decide from moment to moment who they like more: Tony or "Paul."   
  
But growing up eating from a silver spoon had done as little for him as the boarding school he'd been shipped off to at the age of eight. He milked his natural good looks for all they were worth, when weighed against his personality, weren't worth that much. He strutted instead of walked, fully aware of the puddles of former females he left liquefying in his wake.  
  
  
  
Tony had zeroed in on one Isadora Wall almost immediately, in for a rude awakening with her disfavor counterattacking his subtle advancements, "subtle" being a relative term. His baby-I'm-hot-let's-go-get-it-on bedroom eyes, belied any smooth overtures his mouth might make. At first Miss Wall found him rather entertaining, loving to whip his words back into his face with the same saccharine sweetness she'd bestowed on Mrs. Cole, but after showing diligent in his endeavors to "woo" her, he just flat out got on Max's nerves.   
  
Discreetly she edged away from the dance floor, relieved to see Tony nowhere in sight. Alone in the safe enclosing shadow of a massive fern of some sort, Max tapped the side of her ear, hoping to receive better frequency. "Alec?"  
  
"Yo!"  
  
"What's your status?"  
  
"Well, I was making it with Mrs. Menopause until I got this shrill ringing in my ears and my concentration was completely blown." A beat. "I'm sitting on my hands waiting for you to give me the all clear for curtain number three, why?"  
  
"Get ready. A guard's coming your way." Max discreetly let him pass her and watched him work his way across the wall of the ballroom. "He'll type in the three 10 digit codes at the edge of the hall to shut down the alarms. Let him pass you before ducking into place. So far his average is one and a half minutes per check, you've got plenty of time. Are you clear on your end?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Discreetly follow guard to end of hallway, duck into the second airshaft of the evening, crawl down it thirty meters until I reach the intersection, and take a left turn at Albuquerque. From there I follow the yellow brick road for another 34.5 meters until I reach the grating that consequently falls directly above the diamond, drop down, do my thing, get out, wait for the next guard check so's to slip down the hall, meet up with you, and head home for pizza and beer. Sound about right to you?"  
  
"Just about." Her eyes zeroed in on her quarry, the portly man just finishing the last of the codes. Getting the green light, he crossed the velvet ropes with the sign "No Visitors Beyond This Point Please" dangling politely underneath it. "You're up slugger," she mumbled.  
  
"One more thing, Max..."  
  
"There you are Miss Wall!" A loud voice rang behind her. Cursing every deity known to man, Max wheeled around, hoping the smile plastered thinly across her face read surprise instead of the murderous malice she was feeling.   
  
"Tony."  
  
"What a surprise catching you back here all alone. Has that date of yours left you high and dry yet again? That's no way to treat such a exquisite a date such as yourself." Alec's side remained silent and Max shrugged inwardly, figuring the confounding earpieces had cut out yet again. She turned her full attention to Tony, or more precisely, how to be rid of him.   
  
"Actually, he went off to find me some champagne, I'm quite parched."  
  
"Oh, well that will not do." Without another word, he spun on one heel and hurried off to chase down the refreshment tray bobbing around like a small ship in the sea of partygoers.   
  
'That was too easy,' Max thought. And she soon saw why, the Fates having yet another curveball up their sleeves. A head of massive blond curls circled in on her within moments of Tony's departure and began eagerly chatting at her about what a lovely gala it was. Max saw through the facade in a flash, labeling the girl as either a mole sent to weasel out information on Paul Altman or incredibly stupid to see Max's lack of interest in anything the upper crust had to offer. Probably a combination of both. "I see you've caught Anthony Hawkins' eye. He's a catch," she offered hopefully, very likely trying to find a way to permanently sever the ties between Isadora Wall and her absent date.  
  
"Really?" Her tone no more interested in the intentions than she herself was, counting down the seconds Alec had before he would be locked within the art department prior to the guard's next check in another thirty minutes.   
  
"Well what do you think of him?"  
  
"I think I find myself resisting the temptation bash my head into one of these marble pillars whenever he's within thirty feet of me."  
  
The blonde gasped with much drama before spitting out some lame excuse and turning to leave. Before Max could exult in the newfound privacy and try to call up Alec over the earpiece again, a husky chuckle rang out behind her. One that sounded identical to Tony's, cursing Fate's grudge against her, she turned slowly, expecting to find a pair brown eyes. She found ones blue-gray instead.   
  
"Mr. Hawkins," Max said emotionlessly, unsure how to address a man after insulting his only child and namesake.   
  
"Miss Wall." He nodded politely to her, containing his mirth. His angular face was handsome, to be sure, despite the wisps of gray pulling at 40+ year old hair and the tired lines around his beautiful blue-gray eyes. Although straightforward and generous by reputation, the vaguely untamed aura about him was where his magnetism was born, giving off the air of a rough-and-ready soldier out of place in a tuxedo. In short words, despite the age difference between the two, he embodied all the qualities Max liked in a man. A gentleman with the unseen heart of a warrior, he was a dream for every girl, though less often pursued.  
  
"I..." she started, trying not to choke on an apology.  
  
"...have no reason to apologize," he finished for her. "My son is a bit arrogant, to be sure. Most people find him charming, but there are those personalities who find him downright irritating."  
  
"And which side of the fence do you stand on?" she asked impertinently.  
  
"It depends on which day of the week."  
  
At his dry response and otherwise not offended good mood, Max trilled out a laugh. As the slightly hysterical laughter died down--hysterical because offending the host would be bad enough, but pissing him off could prove downright damaging for their mission at this point--Max caught him watching her quite curiously.  
  
"You remind me of her," he finally murmured, tilting his head so his blue-gray eyes could catch her at another angle.  
  
"Who?"   
  
"My wife."  
  
*****  
  
"Just what the world needs: another Logan," Alec cracked to himself so quietly his partner wouldn't catch the remark through her earpiece. Slipping through the air vent silently, he listened with entirely too much interest to the conversation on the other end of the line. He was still pretending the line had cut out after he suddenly stopped talking when the younger Anthony had nearly broken in on their heist earlier. He could have kept talking since Max had the innate ability to listen to five or six conversations at once and not miss a beat, but he had simply forgot what he was going to say.  
  
Tony had been tailing Max all night, something Alec found himself less than happy about. Although he did find some twisted amusement at her constant rebuttal of his one-liners, some of which were pretty decent by Alec's standards. He'd listened in on bits of their conversations all night, the earpieces not breaking off nearly as often as he let Max think they did.   
  
Turning down the last vent shaft, adrenaline quickened in his veins as he came nearer and nearer to his prize. But the joy of larceny had dimmed during his creeping down the shafts. It wasn't the grunt work before that bothered him as much as the longer he stayed silent in the shaft, the longer he listened in on what Max ignorantly assumed to be private conversations, the more he had to think about.   
  
Anthony Hawkins, Sr. was a widower and wise beyond his years. He was out of Max's age range but not by so much that their pairing off would cause more than tongue wagging. Soft-spoken and true to the beliefs Alec heard spouted off via earpiece, it only took some off-handed remark about him resembling another Logan to make the X5 see the truth of his statement.  
  
So deep in his thoughts, he paused in the shaft, blind and deaf to the real world momentarily. The elder Mr. Hauwkins must have said something witty while Alec tuned them out, for Max's laugh pierced his ear with a sweet pain, making him jump and slam the back of his head against the top of the air vent. Mouthing enough colorful curses to make a sailor blush, Alec touched his ear to the metal now warmed by his hotter than normal body heat. Hearing the world outside his metal cage stay alarmingly silent after his blunder, he closed his eyes in deep concentration, straining to hear better. Neither footfall nor the super high-frequency drone of a silent alarm met his ears.   
  
Judging all was safe, Alec returned to his crawl, mouthing curses all the way to ground zero. Cursing himself for letting something as simple--even though rare and precious--as Max's laughter breaking his concentration. Cursing himself for his concentration being so far from the task at hand. Cursing Max for making his concentration so far from the task at hand and then breaking it to boot. Cursing the lint and metallic stench of these stupid airshafts. Just cursing in general.  
  
Max's voice slipped over the line. "Oh, Mr. Hawkins, you are just too much."  
  
"Please, Isadora. How many times must I ask you to simply call me Anthony?" Mr. Hawkins admonished lightly in return.   
  
The line cut out for real that time, much to Alec's relief. One more word and he was going to throw up all over his tuxedo, which would make it a real pain to return in the morning.   
  
  
  
Alec was pissed, though he lied to himself saying he didn't know why.   
  
Now that he thought about it, he saw so much of himself in the younger Hawkins. They were both slightly arrogant,--with due cause, mind you--flirty, and players. They played irresponsible immaturity to its fullest extent and gave off the impression that becoming a one-woman man was as foreign an idea to them as becoming a one-man woman. Logan was like Anthony, both looking, or at the very least interested, in the family way.   
  
So hearing Max ooh and ahh over the elder Hawkins quickly wore on his nerves.  
  
Alec slipped through grating of the air vent silently. Using a black rope like somebody out of a spy movie, he dropped down over his prey. With robotic motions, he grabbed the sizeable diamond dispassionately and tucked it safely away without taking his customary moment to admire a pilfered item's beauty, which always seemed to take on a seductive, dangerous edge when laying illegally in his palms. He was a starving lion taking no pleasure in the kill of fleshy prey. All his energies were focused on two things: shutting down the emotions carrying such unwanted thoughts and completing his mission and getting the heck out of there. Although he was sure Max's conversation with "Anthony" had crackled back and for a couple of times over the line, he refused to let himself hear it.   
  
  
  
Safely tucked back into the air vent, Alec sprawled as much as he could in the cramped space, gasping for air like he'd just blurred back and forth across the locked down room below him a thousand times instead of just slipping down a few meters to retrieve some stinkin' diamond.   
  
"Damn," he muttered to himself. Fate, being the conniving female she had to be, was just too unfair. "At least the core of the job went off without a hitch."  
  
"Alec, are you okay?" Max's voice suddenly chirped in his ear. The words sounded terse, but worried. Even given the givens and Alec's tumbled emotions, he felt a small loopy smile fill his mouth at the though of Max giving even one iota about him.  
  
"Yeah. Fine."  
  
"You sound a bit..."  
  
"I'm fine. Got the diamond secured. Once the guard makes his rounds again and I get out of this godforsaken rat trap we can head home. That is if you can tear yourself away from Mr. Wonderful," he couldn't help adding succinctly. Even as he said the words he tried to call them back. That could be read badly, which wouldn't be too grand for his ears on the way home. Or they words could be read correctly, which would be worse.  
  
But Fate was kind...for the moment.  
  
"Sorry Alec, the mic cut out on the last bit. What did you say?"  
  
"Nothing." 'Thank you,' he mouthed upward, illogically wandering if omniscient beings could see through metal sheets.   
  
"The guard should be back within another twenty-five minutes."   
  
"There you are, Izzy," Anthony's husky voice rumbled over the earpieces.  
  
The shocked expression on Alec's face was comical, had anyone been their to see it. 'Izzy?' he mouthed incredulously. "Izzy" and her temporary prince charming returned to their animated banter. Max was more lively than she'd been all night, even in days or weeks probably.   
  
"Great," Alec said with more enthusiasm than he felt. Another twenty-five minutes of listening to Max chat it up with Anthony on and off. "Just great."  
  
Ignoring the twosome on the other end of the line determined to destroy the remainder of his sanity, the transgenic crept back to his opening spot, a short drop from scooting down the hallway to freedom. The ignoring tactic didn't help. Every tinkling laugh made Alec's brow furrow deeper. He could just see the two of them shmoozing in his mind, and those visual images proved even more nauseating, though realistic, than just listening to the pair.   
  
He was jealous. Damn.  
  
As if that wasn't enough. He was in love with Max too.   
  
Double damn.  
  
*****  
  
The stranger didn't see the hand at first, studying the vial of blood at eye level with open fascination; it was as if he intended to discern the secrets of the red fluid in front of their very eyes. The fascination only spurned Logan's sixth sense further but he ignored it again.  
  
"I am a scientist myself, Mr.Cale. A late colleague - a mentor, you might say - held a very influential position in Project Manticore." Only when the vial was secured in his coat pocket did the dark-eyed stranger notice the outstretched hand. Taking it in his own, they shook firmly, the older man answering the second half of the question: "Fredrickson. Dr. Leonard Johannes Fredrickson."  
  
"Pleased to meet you," Logan lied, doing his best to seem self-assured as he tried to keep the eye contact so hard to establish in the first place. He glanced at the ground again, something about this man intimidated him like never before. It was like trying to look an angel or a demon in the eye. Prophetic feeling, perhaps?  
  
Logan's journalistic side gritted its teeth, the college professors long since forgotten nagging in his mind. Old words echoed back to him, "Look your story in the eyes, for that is where the story truly lies." His head snapped up then, newly summoned courage overriding his wariness. But if the story truly lay in the eyes, it was a narrative Logan should have better left unread.   
  
Dr. Fredrickson's eyes widened in horror, looking far behind Logan. He raised his long arms before him as if doing so would halt the oncoming train of events. "No!" he cried, waving his palms cracked with age. "We'll need...!"  
  
But Leonard was too late. The deadly "pfft" of air echoed ominously in the abandoned alley as a bullet slipped out the muzzle of a sniper rifle. Ducking out of the bullet's path way, Leonard cursed under his breath. That was most unfortunate. The cell phone in his trench coat pocket vibrated, deeply buried under layers of wrappers of former Wurther's Original butterscotch candies long-since dissolved in his stomach. Pushing the wrappers to the side, the good doctor whipped out the cell phone and slammed it against his ears.  
  
Ignoring any pleasantries, he cut straight to the point, knowing instinctively who called. "That was unnecessary." The voice on the other end of the line was businesslike and not a shade remorseful. "That was not for you to decide. You and your package are needed back at headquarters ASAP." Before even getting in another word edgewise, the click on the other end of the line played the opening bar of the Dial Tone Sonata.  
  
Good heavens but Leonard hated his job. "Fe nes' tol," he grumbled to nobody.  
  
*****  
  
The ride home was silent and more than a little tense. It was with extreme pleasure Alec sunk down onto the threadbare couch of his apartment, letting out a gusty sigh as his head fell back against its pillows. Almost out of habit, Alec blindly grabbed the remote and flicked his TV on, before loosening his bowtie. Sitting up straight he divested himself of the tuxedo's coat which soon joined bowtie in a heap at the feet of the couch, a tampon commercial playing background music to Alec's little striptease. Wild fingers raked through his hair as Alec broke free his hair of all the horrendous bonds gel had placed on it earlier. "That is the last time I let anything other than shampoo touch my hair," he muttered.   
  
Max was probably having the same thoughts trying to get out of her dress and taking down her hair at the same moment, though the thought gave Alec little pleasure. Okay, it was a little pleasurable, Alec was a full-grown, red-blooded male after all, but it had nowhere near the effect it normally did, hardly bringing a smile to his face.   
  
  
  
"I'm in love with her," Alec admitted angrily, the eccentric fingers began to dance against the buttons of his shirt. "Of all the stupid, crazy, idiotic..."  
  
But his self-derisive rant died before even getting to full-speed. As the urgent tune of the nightly news beeped across the airwaves. "We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news on the scene of the murder in downtown Seattle today," the female newscaster began.  
  
"But I was so enjoying the latest venture Always was trying to shove off to the unsuspecting public," Alec muttered under his breath, deciding to take his anger out on the newscaster since she was female and the party responsible for his latest condition he was currently doing his darndest not to think about.  
  
"...the body has been identified as Logan Cale."  
  
Alec's fingers froze and his eyes snapped up, not daring to move a muscle otherwise. The announcer, indifferent to the transgenic's turmoil, continued in an unemotional, professional manner. "A late relation to the founders and owners of the former Cale Industries, Mr. Cale's body was discovered late this afternoon by some school children. The striking absence of a wallet originally lead the authorities to suspect a drug deal or even a mugging gone murder. But the execution style bullet entry has pushed the murder into a higher, more political arena. No suspects or motives have been officially established as of yet, but some anonymous authorities suspect he might have been involved with the infamous cyber-hacker Eyes Only..."  
  
On the dusty counter of Alec's "kitchen," his cell phone chirped loudly, self-confident even among the towers of dirty dishes and the occasional mold patch. Alec's head snapped over at the sound, but didn't move otherwise. Fingers still perched on the buttons of his shirt, his only movement was the unsteady rise and fall of his chest cavity.   
  
The cell phone rang out again. It echoed across the empty apartment, bouncing amongst the dirty dishes before finding the far wall and ricocheting back again. The couch was empty, the door firmly closed. The only evidence of Alec's being there at all was the jacket and bowtie long forgotten on the floor.  
  
All other articles of clothing remained firmly attached to Alec as he blurred across Terminal City compound towards Max.   
  
A/N 2: If the editing is really shoddy on these last to chapters I'm really sorry. 


	12. Breaking the News

Disclaimer: See first eleven chapters.  
  
A/N: I am ashamed to say that I have had this bit written for several months. I hadn't posted it because I didn't like the feel of the "ending" or how it didn't even feel like a whole "chapter"; however, my severe writer's block prevented me from adding anymore. I know where I'm going, but I've lost my way there. I just wanted to post this to prove: (1) I am not dead, and (2) that latest bit wasn't where the story ended. I'm sorry--as if you aren't already sick of apologies--and thank you for bearing with me.   
  
Chapter 12  
  
Dix's stubbly fingers tapped on the counter as the phone rang in his ear for the fourth time before the voicemail kicked in. Dix slammed down the receiver angrily, having been thwarted by technology and bad karma yet again. "He's still not answering his cell."  
  
"They may have gotten back only five minutes ago, but Alec has had to have seen the news by now, they're showing it everywhere," Mole responded before he binged on a shooter. Alcohol was such a rare commodity in Terminal City, not unlike legal money in the day's thriving economy. But given the events, Mole hardly felt bad for his splurge. A double-splurge actually, seeing has he'd forced some of the much needed liquid-relaxant down Dix's gullet to get him to settle down to this state of unrest.  
  
"Well, he's not at his apartment. Where could he be?" Dix asked the otherwise empty Command Center, the words faintly echoing off the walls and the numerous computers strewn haphazardly around the room. Mole glanced around the room, as if the rusting pipes and slimy floors could supply any answer. He grimaced slightly at the general disorder and astounding lack of cleanliness of the place. The Manticore in him liked everything as clean as possible. But Terminal City's rusted out Hibachi grill of a command center had it's own personal appeal, the dirt and decay just a few more homey touches to this god forsaken place.   
  
But in the layers of dust and the boot prints tatooed across the floor in their oil-and-mud ink, something whispered. The whisper grew louder although the silence remained the same, like an imperceptible shift of a ghost walking by one's body.  
  
Realization dawning, they turned to each other. "Max." It didn't matter who said it first since they were both surfing the same airwave.   
  
A small silence lapsed between the two, Dix trying to find something, anything, semi-useful to do. Mole just sat in his chair lazily sucking down his latest round of cigars, loving the feel of the smoke rolling off of his dry tongue. "She doesn't have a TV," the lizardman noted matter-of-factly, trying to show less emotion than he felt on the subject. "She has no idea."  
  
"Well I don't envy his job right now," Dix replied dryly before giving up on the pretense of work. "What a day. I'm going to bed." Mole seemed to agree to the idea and pushed his chair back, following him out the door, flicking off the lights behind him. The rain plummeted through the small fractures in the roof, the pace speeding up as the storm finished her warm-up scales and began her opening number. Her notes' noisy, wet rhythm mimicked Alec's footfalls as he raced through puddles and driving rain.

---------

"The rain's picked up again," Max noted to herself. Her fingers wound in and out of her hair retrieving the last of the bobby pins. She discarded them with a blissful sigh on the card table that was recovered from the trash weeks ago. (A little hammering here, a screw there, and the table had been renovated from trash into a coffee and dining table, plus logging a few hours as an ironing board if the occasion called for it.) "What a release," she murmured, releasing the last locks of hair from their internment camp - since now the war against the gala was over and they had reigned victorious - the skinny, black POWs returned blissfully to their homeland about her shoulders, a little worse for wear after the combined torturing devices of hair spray and bobby pins had been laid against them. Max scratched her tingling scalp vigorously as the blood returned.  
  
There was a splash behind the closed door of bathroom. Ray, who'd fought so bitterly to get in the soapy bath water, was now reluctant to come out. "Three more minutes, Ray," Max called through the door after crossing the living room/bedroom/home office.  
  
A few more splashes swam to her ears with much gusto, as if daring her to enforce her words. "Yes, ma'am." Ray's little soldier voice dripped with sarcasm, but she ignored the tone knowing he'd be obedient. As usual. Even if he was in a rebellious frame of mind his body wouldn't be able to hold out long; it was after two already. Dark circles under his eyes had been sufficient evidence of exhaustion when she'd picked him up from Joshua's several minutes ago. The original plan had been for him to spend the night in Joshua's bigger, surprisingly more kid-friendly flat. But after Gem had dropped off a grumpy baby before her big date that night, any pretense of sleep had gone out the window for either of the older parties.   
  
Ray loved babies of course, particularly Gem's little runt, but even hours of hand games and pick-a-boo and smothering her dark little head with kisses had ceased to amuse her. When Max had stopped by at about quarter 'til two offering to take him home, Ray jumped at the chance to leave the baby in Joshua's hands with unusual compliance. He was only six after all, and a crabby baby was more than his resume advertised for.  
  
Breaking her musings, Alec blasted through the door then, nearly splintering the hinges and dripping from head to foot. The hair plastered to his head hung low over his brow leaving Max suddenly wondering when he exactly got his last haircut. Mud and gravel bits clung to his calves and lower thighs for dear life, staining the tuxedo pants beyond restoration to the ultra-chic starch and ease they held only hours before as Alec twirled lady after lady across the dance floor. The shirt clung to his body like a wet, cottony second skin, nearly as white as his face.  
  
"Alec, what...?"  
  
"Is Ray here?" he blurted, eyes swinging about the room madly as if he planned to find a blond tuft of hair sticking out from behind the couch, curtains, or the dirty plates on the counter.   
  
"He's just getting done with his bath," Max said slowly. "Did I miss DefCon 3 or something?"  
  
"He's gotta go back to Joshua's," Alec said, still huffing and puffing. He looked an absolute fright. Alec's body dipped back out the still open door. "Come on, Josh!" he hollered impatiently. The floor, already unstable due to age and bad blue prints, fairly shook as Joshua's heavy footsteps amplified down the hallway. Blurring towards the pad Max and Ray shared, Alec had made only the slightest stop at Joshua's apartment, giving him a three second synopsis before continuing his dash.  
  
"But Gem's baby..."  
  
"Went home with Gem," Josh wheezed as he re-enacted Alec's finish-line sprint through the doorway. "Ray'll spend the night with me."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Now!" Both Alec and Joshua ground the word out simultaneously. Both hunched over from their run, gasping as if Hell itself had encroached on their heels on the trek here.  
  
"He has to pack," Max said blankly, not having the slightest clue what was going on and, due to the emotional and physical wringer Alec and the gala had put her through during the last 36 hours, not having the strength to care or at the very least become angry.   
  
"Stuff at my place," Josh said. Even his bottomless reserve of patience was wearing thin as he watched Alec's resolve crumble. He felt sorry for the younger transgenic, having to be the bearer of such bad news, but he also instinctively knew that Alec would much rather be there for Max when she found out than having her hear it from another source alone.   
  
"Aunt Max, what's going on?" Ray stepped out of the bathroom in a pair of cut up old sweatpants, rubbing his ever growing blonde hair vigorously with a towel, in dire need of a good cleaning itself. Water droplets still glistened off his young skin in the warm lamplight. He'd always struggled with the concept of actually using the towel on his body, preferring to just dig in his hair. Letting a body drip dry was more natural, or so he'd always claimed.   
  
Before Max could tell him to at least dry off his back, Joshua lumbered over to the kid with amazing speed, picking up a random blue T-shirt on the floor and throwing it at him. "We have to go back to my place," he said simply.   
  
Obediently pulling the shirt over his head, Ray cringed as day old sweat in the armpits of the sleeves clung to the watery dampness of his underarms. Once the offending article of clothing covered all necessary body parts, Ray glanced back and forth between the three adults, a confused look lingering in his blue eyes, as if to ask, "What now?" Max's face only mirrored his own confusion and exhaustion to boot, not having truly slept in over a week. Alec seemed pained and desperate; Joshua's sympathetic face leaned in that particular direction also.   
  
"Come on Ray," the dogman commanded softly. He snatched a quilt off the back of the couch, used to cover the holes in the upholstery, and wrapped it around Ray's lean body to keep him warm against the rain. The boy, mummified by calico patchwork, went into Joshua's arms without protest. Nodding to the other two silent parties, the older transgen carried the boy back out the door and almost noiselessly closed the nearly broken entrance with a yeti-like foot.   
  
"What was that all about?" Max asked in soft bewilderment, still swimming through the misty daze. Her gaze finally drifted from the door to her companion. Seeing her finally look back at him again, he felt the full weight of what he was about to do, the fragile world he was about to destroy with two simple words.  
  
Logan's dead. It was all so straightforward: Two words, 10 letters and an apostrophe.  
  
Alec's jaw opened and closed repeatedly like a fish out of water. His vocal cords stopped working, shriveling up more and more as Max's eyes continued to question him, the confused and tired frown burrowing deeper. Some part of Alec wondered if he'd ever see her smile again like she had for Logan, with that touch of unreservedness shining solely for him.   
  
A small grunt bordering on an unmanly whimper tickled at Alec's vocal cords, assuring him that they were up and running again. He cleared his throat raggedly, the fingers of his right hand needing activity dove for cover under his shaggy hair. He sighed slowly, breathing in and out so deeply he could have been the poster child for Lamaze classes.   
  
"We have to talk Max."  
  
"About what?"  
  
Silence. Alec took her in one last time, wanting to always remember her in this moment. Hair dangling like the branches of black weeping willow, brushing against her shoulders every time her head dared move; the locks, still caked with hair spray and a stray bobby pin grasping at a wisp of dark hair here and there. Brown eyes wide and full of life. And that dress, that dress would be sinned against if ever forced to caress the intimate curves of another female form again. She looked so domestic and regally angelic at once and so...innocent.  
  
Alec felt his eyes plugged up quickly, but he forced a brave smile on his face. "Maybe you should get a bit more comfortable first, change your clothes?" The moment of cowardliness was only going to make it more difficult to relay the bad news in the long run, but it seemed worth it if only to keep Max in that if not blissful, then at least comprehensible world of hers a short while longer.   
  
"Okay." Max was still looking at him strangely.   
  
She slipped silently through the eroding sheet draped across the doorway of her room, leaving Alec alone for a short spell to collect his thoughts. A worn dresser creaked sorely as Max rummaged around for a top and soft foot falls padded back and forth across the floor. In Alec's ears the silence of the apartment rang with the swish of a zipper sliding up and a soft expulsion of breath.   
  
Max emerged moments later, far removed from her princess costume and looking much the same as the last time Alec had waited for her to slip out of her attire into something more comfortable--after she'd presented herself as a lawyer from the District Attorney's office when he'd been identified as the man behind his twin brother's villainous crimes prior to his death. A loose-fitting pair of jeans fell across her legs just as naturally as her dress before, while her upper body took cover under a red hoodie. A hairbrush attacked her hair with forced restraint and the hairspray and gel released their hold with a snarl.  
  
"Much better," she mumbled softly to herself, nearly forgetting Alec's unusually silent presence. With her backside to him she crossed towards the kitchen, her bare feet braved the floor in the face of makeshift games, sticky spills, and other entrapments Ray had miraculously forgotten to clean up in days prior. "You want some coffee? Dix scored me some," she offered over her shoulder, already filling a teapot with water.  
  
While his brain crisscrossed and stuttered over several possible declining responses, his mouth was much more fluent. As Max had more than once wondered, his mouth did indeed have a mind of its own. A soft "sure" slipped off his tongue from somewhere, going in much the opposite direction that his mind wanted to go. Alas, as often was the case when around Max.   
  
"Coming right up." She placed the teapot on the stove before drawing two rather dicey-looking mugs from an even more dicey-looking cupboard.   
  
The short moments Alec had bought were soon spent, and he wrapped his fingers around a fresh cup of brew. How to start? "Max...uh...sit down."  
  
Max, sipping her own coffee, stared over the brim of her cup blankly, seeming to comprehend the words no more than if he'd said them in Sanskrit. Plopping his mug down on the counter with more force than he intended, he crossed quickly to her and pulled her towards the couch in the living room.  
  
"Alec, what is up? You're acting crazy," was Max's only sign of complaint as he fairly threw her against the couch.  
  
"Max, there was an accident this morning...no, no," joining her on the couch, he grasped her warm palms in his wet, cold ones and pulled them towards his lap. He began again. "Logan went out on some Eyes Only business this morning and...and things went wrong." He subconsciously gave her palms a comforting squeeze before dropping them. "He's dead, Max. One bullet to the back of the head. Execution style. He died immediately, not suffering," he stopped his ramble with what he hoped was a reassuring offer. As reassuring as circumstances would allow anyway.  
  
If Alec had expecting an onslaught of tears or anger or disbelief, he'd have been romantically deluding himself. She didn't cry or attack him, charging like a black-haired bull enraged at these vicious lies. She didn't react. Her demeanor didn't change, not so much as a stiffening of the limbs or a stray tear. For a second he wondered if somehow her supersensitive ears had somehow not heard him, but as he looked into her brown eyes he saw she had caught every word.  
  
There was an alertness lying in those brown depths that recognized word and meaning, but reacted with so little passion he could have told her that the next food delivery was to be pushed back a day or two when they were already stocked for a good month. He'd seen her react stronger when Normal had given her a sector assignment she didn't want or an extra package to deliver. There was no crackle or snap in her eyes, as if she were aware of words and meaning without awareness of actual emotions.   
  
Her eyes were nearly a Manticorean blank, but not cold so much as they lacked her warmth, which somehow made them seem cooler than any other set of eyes he'd ever seen.  
  
"Oh," she whispered. Not so much a realization as much as a filler word. "Oh."


End file.
